WE stopped talking, and got to thinking.  By and by Tom says:

"Looky here, Huck, what fools we are to not think of it before!  I bet I know where Jim is."

"No!  Where?"

"In that hut down by the ash-hopper.  Why, looky here.  When we was at dinner, didn't you see a n***** man go in there with some vittles?"

"Yes."

"What did you think the vittles was for?"

"For a dog."

"So 'd I. Well, it wasn't for a dog."

"Why?"

"Because part of it was watermelon."

"So it was—I noticed it.  Well, it does beat all that I never thought about a dog not eating watermelon.  It shows how a body can see and don't see at the same time."

"Well, the n***** unlocked the padlock when he went in, and he locked it again when he came out.  He fetched uncle a key about the time we got up from table—same key, I bet.  Watermelon shows man, lock shows prisoner; and it ain't likely there's two prisoners on such a little plantation, and where the people's all so kind and good.  Jim's the prisoner.  All right—I'm glad we found it out detective fashion; I wouldn't give shucks for any other way.  Now you work your mind, and study out a plan to steal Jim, and I will study out one, too; and we'll take the one we like the best."

What a head for just a boy to have!  If I had Tom Sawyer's head I wouldn't trade it off to be a duke, nor mate of a steamboat, nor clown in a circus, nor nothing I can think of.  I went to thinking out a plan, but only just to be doing something; I knowed very well where the right plan was going to come from.  Pretty soon Tom says:

"Ready?"

"Yes," I says.

"All right—bring it out."

"My plan is this," I says.  "We can easy find out if it's Jim in there. Then get up my canoe to-morrow night, and fetch my raft over from the island.  Then the first dark night that comes steal the key out of the old man's britches after he goes to bed, and shove off down the river on the raft with Jim, hiding daytimes and running nights, the way me and Jim used to do before.  Wouldn't that plan work?"

"_Work_?  Why, cert'nly it would work, like rats a-fighting.  But it's too blame' simple; there ain't nothing _to_ it.  What's the good of a plan that ain't no more trouble than that?  It's as mild as goose-milk.  Why, Huck, it wouldn't make no more talk than breaking into a soap factory."