He showed them where he had already dug.
"Twinty-five cints apiece, annyhow," he said, "an' five dollars fer th'
lucky wan that finds it."
"All right," said one. "Now what is it we are to dig for?"
"'Tis a cat," said Flannery, "a dead wan."
"Go on!" cried the boy sarcastically. "What _is_ it we are to dig for?"
"I can get you a dead cat, mister," said another. "Our cat died."
"'T will not do," said Flannery. "'T is a special cat I'm wantin'. 'T is
a long-haired cat, an' 't was dead a long time. Ye can't mistake it whin
ye come awn to it. If ye dig up a cat ye know no wan w'u'd want t' have,
that 's it."
The sixteen boys dug, and Flannery, in desperation, dug, but a square
mile is a large plot of ground to dig over. No one, having observed that
cat on the morning when Timmy planted it, would have believed it could
be put in any place where it could not be instantly found again. It had
seemed like a cat that would advertise itself. But that is just like a
cat; it is always around when it is n't needed, and when it is needed
it can't be found. Before the afternoon was half over the boys had tired
of digging for a dead cat and had gone away, but Flannery kept at it
until the sun went down.
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