So we kept a-gazing. Pretty soon Tom says:

"Huck, there's something mighty curious about this one, don't you know?
IT oughtn't to be going around in the daytime."

"That's so, Tom--I never heard the like of it before."

"No, sir, they don't ever come out only at night--and then not till
after twelve. There's something wrong about this one, now you mark my
words. I don't believe it's got any right to be around in the daytime.
But don't it look natural! Jake was going to play deef and dumb here, so
the neighbors wouldn't know his voice. Do you reckon it would do that if
we was to holler at it?"

"Lordy, Tom, don't talk so! If you was to holler at it I'd die in my
tracks."

"Don't you worry, I ain't going to holler at it. Look, Huck, it's
a-scratching its head--don't you see?"

"Well, what of it?"

"Why, this. What's the sense of it scratching its head? There ain't
anything there to itch; its head is made out of fog or something like
that, and can't itch. A fog can't itch; any fool knows that."

"Well, then, if it don't itch and can't itch, what in the nation is it
scratching it for? Ain't it just habit, don't you reckon?"

"No, sir, I don't. I ain't a bit satisfied about the way this one acts.