



Produced by David Widger




HUCKLEBERRY FINN

By Mark Twain

Part 6.



CHAPTER XXVI.

WELL, when they was all gone the king he asks Mary Jane how they was off
for spare rooms, and she said she had one spare room, which would do for
Uncle William, and she'd give her own room to Uncle Harvey, which was a
little bigger, and she would turn into the room with her sisters and
sleep on a cot; and up garret was a little cubby, with a pallet in it.
The king said the cubby would do for his valley--meaning me.

So Mary Jane took us up, and she showed them their rooms, which was plain
but nice.  She said she'd have her frocks and a lot of other traps took
out of her room if they was in Uncle Harvey's way, but he said they
warn't.  The frocks was hung along the wall, and before them was a
curtain made out of calico that hung down to the floor.  There was an old
hair trunk in one corner, and a guitar-box in another, and all sorts of
little knickknacks and jimcracks around, like girls brisken up a room
with.  The king said it was all the more homely and more pleasanter for
these fixings, and so don't disturb them.  The duke's room was pretty
small, but plenty good enough, and so was my cubby.

That night they had a big supper, and all them men and women was there,
and I stood behind the king and the duke's chairs and waited on them, and
the <DW65>s waited on the rest.  Mary Jane she set at the head of the
table, with Susan alongside of her, and said how bad the biscuits was,
and how mean the preserves was, and how ornery and tough the fried
chickens was--and all that kind of rot, the way women always do for to
force out compliments; and the people all knowed everything was tiptop,
and said so--said "How DO you get biscuits to brown so nice?" and "Where,
for the land's sake, DID you get these amaz'n pickles?" and all that kind
of humbug talky-talk, just the way people always does at a supper, you
know.

And when it was all done me and the hare-lip had supper in the kitchen
off of the leavings, whilst the others was helping the <DW65>s clean up
the things.  The hare-lip she got to pumping me about England, and blest
if I didn't think the ice was getting mighty thin sometimes.  She says:

"Did you ever see the king?"

"Who?  William Fourth?  Well, I bet I have--he goes to our church."  I
knowed he was dead years ago, but I never let on.  So when I says he goes
to our church, she says:

"What--regular?"

"Yes--regular.  His pew's right over opposite ourn--on t'other side the
pulpit."

"I thought he lived in London?"

"Well, he does.  Where WOULD he live?"

"But I thought YOU lived in Sheffield?"

I see I was up a stump.  I had to let on to get choked with a chicken
bone, so as to get time to think how to get down again.  Then I says:

"I mean he goes to our church regular when he's in Sheffield.  That's
only in the summer time, when he comes there to take the sea baths."

"Why, how you talk--Sheffield ain't on the sea."

"Well, who said it was?"

"Why, you did."

"I DIDN'T nuther."

"You did!"

"I didn't."

"You did."

"I never said nothing of the kind."

"Well, what DID you say, then?"

"Said he come to take the sea BATHS--that's what I said."

"Well, then, how's he going to take the sea baths if it ain't on the
sea?"

"Looky here," I says; "did you ever see any Congress-water?"

"Yes."

"Well, did you have to go to Congress to get it?"

"Why, no."

"Well, neither does William Fourth have to go to the sea to get a sea
bath."

"How does he get it, then?"

"Gets it the way people down here gets Congress-water--in barrels.  There
in the palace at Sheffield they've got furnaces, and he wants his water
hot.  They can't bile that amount of water away off there at the sea.
They haven't got no conveniences for it."

"Oh, I see, now.  You might a said that in the first place and saved
time."

When she said that I see I was out of the woods again, and so I was
comfortable and glad.  Next, she says:

"Do you go to church, too?"

"Yes--regular."

"Where do you set?"

"Why, in our pew."

"WHOSE pew?"

"Why, OURN--your Uncle Harvey's."

"His'n?  What does HE want with a pew?"

"Wants it to set in.  What did you RECKON he wanted with it?"

"Why, I thought he'd be in the pulpit."

Rot him, I forgot he was a preacher.  I see I was up a stump again, so I
played another chicken bone and got another think.  Then I says:

"Blame it, do you suppose there ain't but one preacher to a church?"

"Why, what do they want with more?"

"What!--to preach before a king?  I never did see such a girl as you.
They don't have no less than seventeen."

"Seventeen!  My land!  Why, I wouldn't set out such a string as that, not
if I NEVER got to glory.  It must take 'em a week."

"Shucks, they don't ALL of 'em preach the same day--only ONE of 'em."

"Well, then, what does the rest of 'em do?"

"Oh, nothing much.  Loll around, pass the plate--and one thing or
another.  But mainly they don't do nothing."

"Well, then, what are they FOR?"

"Why, they're for STYLE.  Don't you know nothing?"

"Well, I don't WANT to know no such foolishness as that.  How is servants
treated in England?  Do they treat 'em better 'n we treat our <DW65>s?"

"NO!  A servant ain't nobody there.  They treat them worse than dogs."

"Don't they give 'em holidays, the way we do, Christmas and New Year's
week, and Fourth of July?"

"Oh, just listen!  A body could tell YOU hain't ever been to England by
that.  Why, Hare-l--why, Joanna, they never see a holiday from year's end
to year's end; never go to the circus, nor theater, nor <DW65> shows, nor
nowheres."

"Nor church?"

"Nor church."

"But YOU always went to church."

Well, I was gone up again.  I forgot I was the old man's servant.  But
next minute I whirled in on a kind of an explanation how a valley was
different from a common servant and HAD to go to church whether he wanted
to or not, and set with the family, on account of its being the law.  But
I didn't do it pretty good, and when I got done I see she warn't
satisfied.  She says:

"Honest injun, now, hain't you been telling me a lot of lies?"

"Honest injun," says I.

"None of it at all?"

"None of it at all.  Not a lie in it," says I.

"Lay your hand on this book and say it."

I see it warn't nothing but a dictionary, so I laid my hand on it and
said it.  So then she looked a little better satisfied, and says:

"Well, then, I'll believe some of it; but I hope to gracious if I'll
believe the rest."

"What is it you won't believe, Joe?" says Mary Jane, stepping in with
Susan behind her.  "It ain't right nor kind for you to talk so to him,
and him a stranger and so far from his people.  How would you like to be
treated so?"

"That's always your way, Maim--always sailing in to help somebody before
they're hurt.  I hain't done nothing to him.  He's told some stretchers,
I reckon, and I said I wouldn't swallow it all; and that's every bit and
grain I DID say.  I reckon he can stand a little thing like that, can't
he?"

"I don't care whether 'twas little or whether 'twas big; he's here in our
house and a stranger, and it wasn't good of you to say it.  If you was in
his place it would make you feel ashamed; and so you oughtn't to say a
thing to another person that will make THEM feel ashamed."

"Why, Maim, he said--"

"It don't make no difference what he SAID--that ain't the thing.  The
thing is for you to treat him KIND, and not be saying things to make him
remember he ain't in his own country and amongst his own folks."

I says to myself, THIS is a girl that I'm letting that old reptle rob her
of her money!

Then Susan SHE waltzed in; and if you'll believe me, she did give
Hare-lip hark from the tomb!

Says I to myself, and this is ANOTHER one that I'm letting him rob her of
her money!

Then Mary Jane she took another inning, and went in sweet and lovely
again--which was her way; but when she got done there warn't hardly
anything left o' poor Hare-lip.  So she hollered.

"All right, then," says the other girls; "you just ask his pardon."

She done it, too; and she done it beautiful.  She done it so beautiful it
was good to hear; and I wished I could tell her a thousand lies, so she
could do it again.

I says to myself, this is ANOTHER one that I'm letting him rob her of her
money.  And when she got through they all jest laid theirselves out to
make me feel at home and know I was amongst friends.  I felt so ornery
and low down and mean that I says to myself, my mind's made up; I'll hive
that money for them or bust.

So then I lit out--for bed, I said, meaning some time or another.  When I
got by myself I went to thinking the thing over.  I says to myself, shall
I go to that doctor, private, and blow on these frauds?  No--that won't
do. He might tell who told him; then the king and the duke would make it
warm for me.  Shall I go, private, and tell Mary Jane?  No--I dasn't do
it. Her face would give them a hint, sure; they've got the money, and
they'd slide right out and get away with it.  If she was to fetch in help
I'd get mixed up in the business before it was done with, I judge.  No;
there ain't no good way but one.  I got to steal that money, somehow; and
I got to steal it some way that they won't suspicion that I done it.
They've got a good thing here, and they ain't a-going to leave till
they've played this family and this town for all they're worth, so I'll
find a chance time enough. I'll steal it and hide it; and by and by, when
I'm away down the river, I'll write a letter and tell Mary Jane where
it's hid.  But I better hive it tonight if I can, because the doctor
maybe hasn't let up as much as he lets on he has; he might scare them out
of here yet.

So, thinks I, I'll go and search them rooms.  Upstairs the hall was dark,
but I found the duke's room, and started to paw around it with my hands;
but I recollected it wouldn't be much like the king to let anybody else
take care of that money but his own self; so then I went to his room and
begun to paw around there.  But I see I couldn't do nothing without a
candle, and I dasn't light one, of course.  So I judged I'd got to do the
other thing--lay for them and eavesdrop.  About that time I hears their
footsteps coming, and was going to skip under the bed; I reached for it,
but it wasn't where I thought it would be; but I touched the curtain that
hid Mary Jane's frocks, so I jumped in behind that and snuggled in
amongst the gowns, and stood there perfectly still.

They come in and shut the door; and the first thing the duke done was to
get down and look under the bed.  Then I was glad I hadn't found the bed
when I wanted it.  And yet, you know, it's kind of natural to hide under
the bed when you are up to anything private.  They sets down then, and
the king says:

"Well, what is it?  And cut it middlin' short, because it's better for us
to be down there a-whoopin' up the mournin' than up here givin' 'em a
chance to talk us over."

"Well, this is it, Capet.  I ain't easy; I ain't comfortable.  That
doctor lays on my mind.  I wanted to know your plans.  I've got a notion,
and I think it's a sound one."

"What is it, duke?"

"That we better glide out of this before three in the morning, and clip
it down the river with what we've got.  Specially, seeing we got it so
easy--GIVEN back to us, flung at our heads, as you may say, when of
course we allowed to have to steal it back.  I'm for knocking off and
lighting out."

That made me feel pretty bad.  About an hour or two ago it would a been a
little different, but now it made me feel bad and disappointed, The king
rips out and says:

"What!  And not sell out the rest o' the property?  March off like a
passel of fools and leave eight or nine thous'n' dollars' worth o'
property layin' around jest sufferin' to be scooped in?--and all good,
salable stuff, too."

The duke he grumbled; said the bag of gold was enough, and he didn't want
to go no deeper--didn't want to rob a lot of orphans of EVERYTHING they
had.

"Why, how you talk!" says the king.  "We sha'n't rob 'em of nothing at
all but jest this money.  The people that BUYS the property is the
suff'rers; because as soon 's it's found out 'at we didn't own it--which
won't be long after we've slid--the sale won't be valid, and it 'll all
go back to the estate.  These yer orphans 'll git their house back agin,
and that's enough for THEM; they're young and spry, and k'n easy earn a
livin'.  THEY ain't a-goin to suffer.  Why, jest think--there's thous'n's
and thous'n's that ain't nigh so well off.  Bless you, THEY ain't got
noth'n' to complain of."

Well, the king he talked him blind; so at last he give in, and said all
right, but said he believed it was blamed foolishness to stay, and that
doctor hanging over them.  But the king says:

"Cuss the doctor!  What do we k'yer for HIM?  Hain't we got all the fools
in town on our side?  And ain't that a big enough majority in any town?"

So they got ready to go down stairs again.  The duke says:

"I don't think we put that money in a good place."

That cheered me up.  I'd begun to think I warn't going to get a hint of
no kind to help me.  The king says:

"Why?"

"Because Mary Jane 'll be in mourning from this out; and first you know
the <DW65> that does up the rooms will get an order to box these duds up
and put 'em away; and do you reckon a <DW65> can run across money and not
borrow some of it?"

"Your head's level agin, duke," says the king; and he comes a-fumbling
under the curtain two or three foot from where I was.  I stuck tight to
the wall and kept mighty still, though quivery; and I wondered what them
fellows would say to me if they catched me; and I tried to think what I'd
better do if they did catch me.  But the king he got the bag before I
could think more than about a half a thought, and he never suspicioned I
was around.  They took and shoved the bag through a rip in the straw tick
that was under the feather-bed, and crammed it in a foot or two amongst
the straw and said it was all right now, because a <DW65> only makes up
the feather-bed, and don't turn over the straw tick only about twice a
year, and so it warn't in no danger of getting stole now.

But I knowed better.  I had it out of there before they was half-way down
stairs.  I groped along up to my cubby, and hid it there till I could get
a chance to do better.  I judged I better hide it outside of the house
somewheres, because if they missed it they would give the house a good
ransacking:  I knowed that very well.  Then I turned in, with my clothes
all on; but I couldn't a gone to sleep if I'd a wanted to, I was in such
a sweat to get through with the business.  By and by I heard the king and
the duke come up; so I rolled off my pallet and laid with my chin at the
top of my ladder, and waited to see if anything was going to happen.  But
nothing did.

So I held on till all the late sounds had quit and the early ones hadn't
begun yet; and then I slipped down the ladder.




CHAPTER XXVII.

I CREPT to their doors and listened; they was snoring.  So I tiptoed
along, and got down stairs all right.  There warn't a sound anywheres.  I
peeped through a crack of the dining-room door, and see the men that was
watching the corpse all sound asleep on their chairs.  The door was open
into the parlor, where the corpse was laying, and there was a candle in
both rooms. I passed along, and the parlor door was open; but I see there
warn't nobody in there but the remainders of Peter; so I shoved on by;
but the front door was locked, and the key wasn't there.  Just then I
heard somebody coming down the stairs, back behind me.  I run in the
parlor and took a swift look around, and the only place I see to hide the
bag was in the coffin.  The lid was shoved along about a foot, showing
the dead man's face down in there, with a wet cloth over it, and his
shroud on.  I tucked the money-bag in under the lid, just down beyond
where his hands was crossed, which made me creep, they was so cold, and
then I run back across the room and in behind the door.

The person coming was Mary Jane.  She went to the coffin, very soft, and
kneeled down and looked in; then she put up her handkerchief, and I see
she begun to cry, though I couldn't hear her, and her back was to me.  I
slid out, and as I passed the dining-room I thought I'd make sure them
watchers hadn't seen me; so I looked through the crack, and everything
was all right.  They hadn't stirred.

I slipped up to bed, feeling ruther blue, on accounts of the thing
playing out that way after I had took so much trouble and run so much
resk about it.  Says I, if it could stay where it is, all right; because
when we get down the river a hundred mile or two I could write back to
Mary Jane, and she could dig him up again and get it; but that ain't the
thing that's going to happen; the thing that's going to happen is, the
money 'll be found when they come to screw on the lid.  Then the king 'll
get it again, and it 'll be a long day before he gives anybody another
chance to smouch it from him. Of course I WANTED to slide down and get it
out of there, but I dasn't try it.  Every minute it was getting earlier
now, and pretty soon some of them watchers would begin to stir, and I
might get catched--catched with six thousand dollars in my hands that
nobody hadn't hired me to take care of.  I don't wish to be mixed up in
no such business as that, I says to myself.

When I got down stairs in the morning the parlor was shut up, and the
watchers was gone.  There warn't nobody around but the family and the
widow Bartley and our tribe.  I watched their faces to see if anything
had been happening, but I couldn't tell.

Towards the middle of the day the undertaker come with his man, and they
set the coffin in the middle of the room on a couple of chairs, and then
set all our chairs in rows, and borrowed more from the neighbors till the
hall and the parlor and the dining-room was full.  I see the coffin lid
was the way it was before, but I dasn't go to look in under it, with
folks around.

Then the people begun to flock in, and the beats and the girls took seats
in the front row at the head of the coffin, and for a half an hour the
people filed around slow, in single rank, and looked down at the dead
man's face a minute, and some dropped in a tear, and it was all very
still and solemn, only the girls and the beats holding handkerchiefs to
their eyes and keeping their heads bent, and sobbing a little.  There
warn't no other sound but the scraping of the feet on the floor and
blowing noses--because people always blows them more at a funeral than
they do at other places except church.

When the place was packed full the undertaker he slid around in his black
gloves with his softy soothering ways, putting on the last touches, and
getting people and things all ship-shape and comfortable, and making no
more sound than a cat.  He never spoke; he moved people around, he
squeezed in late ones, he opened up passageways, and done it with nods,
and signs with his hands.  Then he took his place over against the wall.
He was the softest, glidingest, stealthiest man I ever see; and there
warn't no more smile to him than there is to a ham.

They had borrowed a melodeum--a sick one; and when everything was ready a
young woman set down and worked it, and it was pretty skreeky and
colicky, and everybody joined in and sung, and Peter was the only one
that had a good thing, according to my notion.  Then the Reverend Hobson
opened up, slow and solemn, and begun to talk; and straight off the most
outrageous row busted out in the cellar a body ever heard; it was only
one dog, but he made a most powerful racket, and he kept it up right
along; the parson he had to stand there, over the coffin, and wait--you
couldn't hear yourself think.  It was right down awkward, and nobody
didn't seem to know what to do.  But pretty soon they see that
long-legged undertaker make a sign to the preacher as much as to say,
"Don't you worry--just depend on me."  Then he stooped down and begun to
glide along the wall, just his shoulders showing over the people's heads.
So he glided along, and the powwow and racket getting more and more
outrageous all the time; and at last, when he had gone around two sides
of the room, he disappears down cellar.  Then in about two seconds we
heard a whack, and the dog he finished up with a most amazing howl or
two, and then everything was dead still, and the parson begun his solemn
talk where he left off.  In a minute or two here comes this undertaker's
back and shoulders gliding along the wall again; and so he glided and
glided around three sides of the room, and then rose up, and shaded his
mouth with his hands, and stretched his neck out towards the preacher,
over the people's heads, and says, in a kind of a coarse whisper, "HE HAD
A RAT!"  Then he drooped down and glided along the wall again to his
place.  You could see it was a great satisfaction to the people, because
naturally they wanted to know.  A little thing like that don't cost
nothing, and it's just the little things that makes a man to be looked up
to and liked.  There warn't no more popular man in town than what that
undertaker was.

Well, the funeral sermon was very good, but pison long and tiresome; and
then the king he shoved in and got off some of his usual rubbage, and at
last the job was through, and the undertaker begun to sneak up on the
coffin with his screw-driver.  I was in a sweat then, and watched him
pretty keen. But he never meddled at all; just slid the lid along as soft
as mush, and screwed it down tight and fast.  So there I was!  I didn't
know whether the money was in there or not.  So, says I, s'pose somebody
has hogged that bag on the sly?--now how do I know whether to write to
Mary Jane or not? S'pose she dug him up and didn't find nothing, what
would she think of me? Blame it, I says, I might get hunted up and
jailed; I'd better lay low and keep dark, and not write at all; the
thing's awful mixed now; trying to better it, I've worsened it a hundred
times, and I wish to goodness I'd just let it alone, dad fetch the whole
business!

They buried him, and we come back home, and I went to watching faces
again--I couldn't help it, and I couldn't rest easy.  But nothing come
of it; the faces didn't tell me nothing.

The king he visited around in the evening, and sweetened everybody up,
and made himself ever so friendly; and he give out the idea that his
congregation over in England would be in a sweat about him, so he must
hurry and settle up the estate right away and leave for home.  He was
very sorry he was so pushed, and so was everybody; they wished he could
stay longer, but they said they could see it couldn't be done.  And he
said of course him and William would take the girls home with them; and
that pleased everybody too, because then the girls would be well fixed
and amongst their own relations; and it pleased the girls, too--tickled
them so they clean forgot they ever had a trouble in the world; and told
him to sell out as quick as he wanted to, they would be ready.  Them poor
things was that glad and happy it made my heart ache to see them getting
fooled and lied to so, but I didn't see no safe way for me to chip in and
change the general tune.

Well, blamed if the king didn't bill the house and the <DW65>s and all
the property for auction straight off--sale two days after the funeral;
but anybody could buy private beforehand if they wanted to.

So the next day after the funeral, along about noon-time, the girls' joy
got the first jolt.  A couple of <DW65> traders come along, and the king
sold them the <DW65>s reasonable, for three-day drafts as they called it,
and away they went, the two sons up the river to Memphis, and their
mother down the river to Orleans.  I thought them poor girls and them
<DW65>s would break their hearts for grief; they cried around each other,
and took on so it most made me down sick to see it.  The girls said they
hadn't ever dreamed of seeing the family separated or sold away from the
town.  I can't ever get it out of my memory, the sight of them poor
miserable girls and <DW65>s hanging around each other's necks and crying;
and I reckon I couldn't a stood it all, but would a had to bust out and
tell on our gang if I hadn't knowed the sale warn't no account and the
<DW65>s would be back home in a week or two.

The thing made a big stir in the town, too, and a good many come out
flatfooted and said it was scandalous to separate the mother and the
children that way.  It injured the frauds some; but the old fool he
bulled right along, spite of all the duke could say or do, and I tell you
the duke was powerful uneasy.

Next day was auction day.  About broad day in the morning the king and
the duke come up in the garret and woke me up, and I see by their look
that there was trouble.  The king says:

"Was you in my room night before last?"

"No, your majesty"--which was the way I always called him when nobody but
our gang warn't around.

"Was you in there yisterday er last night?"

"No, your majesty."

"Honor bright, now--no lies."

"Honor bright, your majesty, I'm telling you the truth.  I hain't been
a-near your room since Miss Mary Jane took you and the duke and showed it
to you."

The duke says:

"Have you seen anybody else go in there?"

"No, your grace, not as I remember, I believe."

"Stop and think."

I studied awhile and see my chance; then I says:

"Well, I see the <DW65>s go in there several times."

Both of them gave a little jump, and looked like they hadn't ever
expected it, and then like they HAD.  Then the duke says:

"What, all of them?"

"No--leastways, not all at once--that is, I don't think I ever see them
all come OUT at once but just one time."

"Hello!  When was that?"

"It was the day we had the funeral.  In the morning.  It warn't early,
because I overslept.  I was just starting down the ladder, and I see
them."

"Well, go on, GO on!  What did they do?  How'd they act?"

"They didn't do nothing.  And they didn't act anyway much, as fur as I
see. They tiptoed away; so I seen, easy enough, that they'd shoved in
there to do up your majesty's room, or something, s'posing you was up;
and found you WARN'T up, and so they was hoping to slide out of the way
of trouble without waking you up, if they hadn't already waked you up."

"Great guns, THIS is a go!" says the king; and both of them looked pretty
sick and tolerable silly.  They stood there a-thinking and scratching
their heads a minute, and the duke he bust into a kind of a little raspy
chuckle, and says:

"It does beat all how neat the <DW65>s played their hand.  They let on to
be SORRY they was going out of this region!  And I believed they WAS
sorry, and so did you, and so did everybody.  Don't ever tell ME any more
that a <DW65> ain't got any histrionic talent.  Why, the way they played
that thing it would fool ANYBODY.  In my opinion, there's a fortune in
'em.  If I had capital and a theater, I wouldn't want a better lay-out
than that--and here we've gone and sold 'em for a song.  Yes, and ain't
privileged to sing the song yet.  Say, where IS that song--that draft?"

"In the bank for to be collected.  Where WOULD it be?"

"Well, THAT'S all right then, thank goodness."

Says I, kind of timid-like:

"Is something gone wrong?"

The king whirls on me and rips out:

"None o' your business!  You keep your head shet, and mind y'r own
affairs--if you got any.  Long as you're in this town don't you forgit
THAT--you hear?"  Then he says to the duke, "We got to jest swaller it
and say noth'n':  mum's the word for US."

As they was starting down the ladder the duke he chuckles again, and
says:

"Quick sales AND small profits!  It's a good business--yes."

The king snarls around on him and says:

"I was trying to do for the best in sellin' 'em out so quick.  If the
profits has turned out to be none, lackin' considable, and none to carry,
is it my fault any more'n it's yourn?"

"Well, THEY'D be in this house yet and we WOULDN'T if I could a got my
advice listened to."

The king sassed back as much as was safe for him, and then swapped around
and lit into ME again.  He give me down the banks for not coming and
TELLING him I see the <DW65>s come out of his room acting that way--said
any fool would a KNOWED something was up.  And then waltzed in and cussed
HIMSELF awhile, and said it all come of him not laying late and taking
his natural rest that morning, and he'd be blamed if he'd ever do it
again.  So they went off a-jawing; and I felt dreadful glad I'd worked it
all off on to the <DW65>s, and yet hadn't done the <DW65>s no harm by it.




CHAPTER XXVIII.

BY and by it was getting-up time.  So I come down the ladder and started
for down-stairs; but as I come to the girls' room the door was open, and
I see Mary Jane setting by her old hair trunk, which was open and she'd
been packing things in it--getting ready to go to England.  But she had
stopped now with a folded gown in her lap, and had her face in her hands,
crying.  I felt awful bad to see it; of course anybody would.  I went in
there and says:

"Miss Mary Jane, you can't a-bear to see people in trouble, and I can't
--most always.  Tell me about it."

So she done it.  And it was the <DW65>s--I just expected it.  She said
the beautiful trip to England was most about spoiled for her; she didn't
know HOW she was ever going to be happy there, knowing the mother and the
children warn't ever going to see each other no more--and then busted out
bitterer than ever, and flung up her hands, and says:

"Oh, dear, dear, to think they ain't EVER going to see each other any
more!"

"But they WILL--and inside of two weeks--and I KNOW it!" says I.

Laws, it was out before I could think!  And before I could budge she
throws her arms around my neck and told me to say it AGAIN, say it AGAIN,
say it AGAIN!

I see I had spoke too sudden and said too much, and was in a close place.
I asked her to let me think a minute; and she set there, very impatient
and excited and handsome, but looking kind of happy and eased-up, like a
person that's had a tooth pulled out.  So I went to studying it out.  I
says to myself, I reckon a body that ups and tells the truth when he is
in a tight place is taking considerable many resks, though I ain't had no
experience, and can't say for certain; but it looks so to me, anyway; and
yet here's a case where I'm blest if it don't look to me like the truth
is better and actuly SAFER than a lie.  I must lay it by in my mind, and
think it over some time or other, it's so kind of strange and unregular.
I never see nothing like it.  Well, I says to myself at last, I'm a-going
to chance it; I'll up and tell the truth this time, though it does seem
most like setting down on a kag of powder and touching it off just to see
where you'll go to. Then I says:

"Miss Mary Jane, is there any place out of town a little ways where you
could go and stay three or four days?"

"Yes; Mr. Lothrop's.  Why?"

"Never mind why yet.  If I'll tell you how I know the <DW65>s will see
each other again inside of two weeks--here in this house--and PROVE how I
know it--will you go to Mr. Lothrop's and stay four days?"

"Four days!" she says; "I'll stay a year!"

"All right," I says, "I don't want nothing more out of YOU than just your
word--I druther have it than another man's kiss-the-Bible."  She smiled
and reddened up very sweet, and I says, "If you don't mind it, I'll shut
the door--and bolt it."

Then I come back and set down again, and says:

"Don't you holler.  Just set still and take it like a man.  I got to tell
the truth, and you want to brace up, Miss Mary, because it's a bad kind,
and going to be hard to take, but there ain't no help for it.  These
uncles of yourn ain't no uncles at all; they're a couple of frauds
--regular dead-beats.  There, now we're over the worst of it, you can stand
the rest middling easy."

It jolted her up like everything, of course; but I was over the shoal
water now, so I went right along, her eyes a-blazing higher and higher
all the time, and told her every blame thing, from where we first struck
that young fool going up to the steamboat, clear through to where she
flung herself on to the king's breast at the front door and he kissed her
sixteen or seventeen times--and then up she jumps, with her face afire
like sunset, and says:

"The brute!  Come, don't waste a minute--not a SECOND--we'll have them
tarred and feathered, and flung in the river!"

Says I:

"Cert'nly.  But do you mean BEFORE you go to Mr. Lothrop's, or--"

"Oh," she says, "what am I THINKING about!" she says, and set right down
again.  "Don't mind what I said--please don't--you WON'T, now, WILL you?"
Laying her silky hand on mine in that kind of a way that I said I would
die first.  "I never thought, I was so stirred up," she says; "now go on,
and I won't do so any more.  You tell me what to do, and whatever you say
I'll do it."

"Well," I says, "it's a rough gang, them two frauds, and I'm fixed so I
got to travel with them a while longer, whether I want to or not--I
druther not tell you why; and if you was to blow on them this town would
get me out of their claws, and I'd be all right; but there'd be another
person that you don't know about who'd be in big trouble.  Well, we got
to save HIM, hain't we?  Of course.  Well, then, we won't blow on them."

Saying them words put a good idea in my head.  I see how maybe I could
get me and Jim rid of the frauds; get them jailed here, and then leave.
But I didn't want to run the raft in the daytime without anybody aboard
to answer questions but me; so I didn't want the plan to begin working
till pretty late to-night.  I says:

"Miss Mary Jane, I'll tell you what we'll do, and you won't have to stay
at Mr. Lothrop's so long, nuther.  How fur is it?"

"A little short of four miles--right out in the country, back here."

"Well, that 'll answer.  Now you go along out there, and lay low till
nine or half-past to-night, and then get them to fetch you home again
--tell them you've thought of something.  If you get here before eleven put
a candle in this window, and if I don't turn up wait TILL eleven, and
THEN if I don't turn up it means I'm gone, and out of the way, and safe.
Then you come out and spread the news around, and get these beats
jailed."

"Good," she says, "I'll do it."

"And if it just happens so that I don't get away, but get took up along
with them, you must up and say I told you the whole thing beforehand, and
you must stand by me all you can."

"Stand by you! indeed I will.  They sha'n't touch a hair of your head!"
she says, and I see her nostrils spread and her eyes snap when she said
it, too.

"If I get away I sha'n't be here," I says, "to prove these rapscallions
ain't your uncles, and I couldn't do it if I WAS here.  I could swear
they was beats and <DW15>s, that's all, though that's worth something.
Well, there's others can do that better than what I can, and they're
people that ain't going to be doubted as quick as I'd be.  I'll tell you
how to find them.  Gimme a pencil and a piece of paper.  There--'Royal
Nonesuch, Bricksville.'  Put it away, and don't lose it.  When the court
wants to find out something about these two, let them send up to
Bricksville and say they've got the men that played the Royal Nonesuch,
and ask for some witnesses--why, you'll have that entire town down here
before you can hardly wink, Miss Mary.  And they'll come a-biling, too."

I judged we had got everything fixed about right now.  So I says:

"Just let the auction go right along, and don't worry.  Nobody don't have
to pay for the things they buy till a whole day after the auction on
accounts of the short notice, and they ain't going out of this till they
get that money; and the way we've fixed it the sale ain't going to count,
and they ain't going to get no money.  It's just like the way it was with
the <DW65>s--it warn't no sale, and the <DW65>s will be back before
long.  Why, they can't collect the money for the <DW65>s yet--they're in
the worst kind of a fix, Miss Mary."

"Well," she says, "I'll run down to breakfast now, and then I'll start
straight for Mr. Lothrop's."

"'Deed, THAT ain't the ticket, Miss Mary Jane," I says, "by no manner of
means; go BEFORE breakfast."

"Why?"

"What did you reckon I wanted you to go at all for, Miss Mary?"

"Well, I never thought--and come to think, I don't know.  What was it?"

"Why, it's because you ain't one of these leather-face people.  I don't
want no better book than what your face is.  A body can set down and read
it off like coarse print.  Do you reckon you can go and face your uncles
when they come to kiss you good-morning, and never--"

"There, there, don't!  Yes, I'll go before breakfast--I'll be glad to.
And leave my sisters with them?"

"Yes; never mind about them.  They've got to stand it yet a while.  They
might suspicion something if all of you was to go.  I don't want you to
see them, nor your sisters, nor nobody in this town; if a neighbor was to
ask how is your uncles this morning your face would tell something.  No,
you go right along, Miss Mary Jane, and I'll fix it with all of them.
I'll tell Miss Susan to give your love to your uncles and say you've went
away for a few hours for to get a little rest and change, or to see a
friend, and you'll be back to-night or early in the morning."

"Gone to see a friend is all right, but I won't have my love given to
them."

"Well, then, it sha'n't be."  It was well enough to tell HER so--no harm
in it.  It was only a little thing to do, and no trouble; and it's the
little things that smooths people's roads the most, down here below; it
would make Mary Jane comfortable, and it wouldn't cost nothing.  Then I
says:  "There's one more thing--that bag of money."

"Well, they've got that; and it makes me feel pretty silly to think HOW
they got it."

"No, you're out, there.  They hain't got it."

"Why, who's got it?"

"I wish I knowed, but I don't.  I HAD it, because I stole it from them;
and I stole it to give to you; and I know where I hid it, but I'm afraid
it ain't there no more.  I'm awful sorry, Miss Mary Jane, I'm just as
sorry as I can be; but I done the best I could; I did honest.  I come
nigh getting caught, and I had to shove it into the first place I come
to, and run--and it warn't a good place."

"Oh, stop blaming yourself--it's too bad to do it, and I won't allow it
--you couldn't help it; it wasn't your fault.  Where did you hide it?"

I didn't want to set her to thinking about her troubles again; and I
couldn't seem to get my mouth to tell her what would make her see that
corpse laying in the coffin with that bag of money on his stomach.  So
for a minute I didn't say nothing; then I says:

"I'd ruther not TELL you where I put it, Miss Mary Jane, if you don't
mind letting me off; but I'll write it for you on a piece of paper, and
you can read it along the road to Mr. Lothrop's, if you want to.  Do you
reckon that 'll do?"

"Oh, yes."

So I wrote:  "I put it in the coffin.  It was in there when you was
crying there, away in the night.  I was behind the door, and I was mighty
sorry for you, Miss Mary Jane."

It made my eyes water a little to remember her crying there all by
herself in the night, and them devils laying there right under her own
roof, shaming her and robbing her; and when I folded it up and give it to
her I see the water come into her eyes, too; and she shook me by the
hand, hard, and says:

"GOOD-bye.  I'm going to do everything just as you've told me; and if I
don't ever see you again, I sha'n't ever forget you and I'll think of
you a many and a many a time, and I'll PRAY for you, too!"--and she was
gone.

Pray for me!  I reckoned if she knowed me she'd take a job that was more
nearer her size.  But I bet she done it, just the same--she was just that
kind.  She had the grit to pray for Judus if she took the notion--there
warn't no back-down to her, I judge.  You may say what you want to, but
in my opinion she had more sand in her than any girl I ever see; in my
opinion she was just full of sand.  It sounds like flattery, but it ain't
no flattery.  And when it comes to beauty--and goodness, too--she lays
over them all.  I hain't ever seen her since that time that I see her go
out of that door; no, I hain't ever seen her since, but I reckon I've
thought of her a many and a many a million times, and of her saying she
would pray for me; and if ever I'd a thought it would do any good for me
to pray for HER, blamed if I wouldn't a done it or bust.

Well, Mary Jane she lit out the back way, I reckon; because nobody see
her go.  When I struck Susan and the hare-lip, I says:

"What's the name of them people over on t'other side of the river that
you all goes to see sometimes?"

They says:

"There's several; but it's the Proctors, mainly."

"That's the name," I says; "I most forgot it.  Well, Miss Mary Jane she
told me to tell you she's gone over there in a dreadful hurry--one of
them's sick."

"Which one?"

"I don't know; leastways, I kinder forget; but I thinks it's--"

"Sakes alive, I hope it ain't HANNER?"

"I'm sorry to say it," I says, "but Hanner's the very one."

"My goodness, and she so well only last week!  Is she took bad?"

"It ain't no name for it.  They set up with her all night, Miss Mary Jane
said, and they don't think she'll last many hours."

"Only think of that, now!  What's the matter with her?"

I couldn't think of anything reasonable, right off that way, so I says:

"Mumps."

"Mumps your granny!  They don't set up with people that's got the mumps."

"They don't, don't they?  You better bet they do with THESE mumps.  These
mumps is different.  It's a new kind, Miss Mary Jane said."

"How's it a new kind?"

"Because it's mixed up with other things."

"What other things?"

"Well, measles, and whooping-cough, and erysiplas, and consumption, and
yaller janders, and brain-fever, and I don't know what all."

"My land!  And they call it the MUMPS?"

"That's what Miss Mary Jane said."

"Well, what in the nation do they call it the MUMPS for?"

"Why, because it IS the mumps.  That's what it starts with."

"Well, ther' ain't no sense in it.  A body might stump his toe, and take
pison, and fall down the well, and break his neck, and bust his brains
out, and somebody come along and ask what killed him, and some numskull
up and say, 'Why, he stumped his TOE.'  Would ther' be any sense in that?
NO.  And ther' ain't no sense in THIS, nuther.  Is it ketching?"

"Is it KETCHING?  Why, how you talk.  Is a HARROW catching--in the dark?
If you don't hitch on to one tooth, you're bound to on another, ain't
you? And you can't get away with that tooth without fetching the whole
harrow along, can you?  Well, these kind of mumps is a kind of a harrow,
as you may say--and it ain't no slouch of a harrow, nuther, you come to
get it hitched on good."

"Well, it's awful, I think," says the hare-lip.  "I'll go to Uncle Harvey
and--"

"Oh, yes," I says, "I WOULD.  Of COURSE I would.  I wouldn't lose no
time."

"Well, why wouldn't you?"

"Just look at it a minute, and maybe you can see.  Hain't your uncles
obleegd to get along home to England as fast as they can?  And do you
reckon they'd be mean enough to go off and leave you to go all that
journey by yourselves?  YOU know they'll wait for you.  So fur, so good.
Your uncle Harvey's a preacher, ain't he?  Very well, then; is a PREACHER
going to deceive a steamboat clerk? is he going to deceive a SHIP CLERK?
--so as to get them to let Miss Mary Jane go aboard?  Now YOU know he
ain't.  What WILL he do, then?  Why, he'll say, 'It's a great pity, but
my church matters has got to get along the best way they can; for my
niece has been exposed to the dreadful pluribus-unum mumps, and so it's
my bounden duty to set down here and wait the three months it takes to
show on her if she's got it.'  But never mind, if you think it's best to
tell your uncle Harvey--"

"Shucks, and stay fooling around here when we could all be having good
times in England whilst we was waiting to find out whether Mary Jane's
got it or not?  Why, you talk like a muggins."

"Well, anyway, maybe you'd better tell some of the neighbors."

"Listen at that, now.  You do beat all for natural stupidness.  Can't you
SEE that THEY'D go and tell?  Ther' ain't no way but just to not tell
anybody at ALL."

"Well, maybe you're right--yes, I judge you ARE right."

"But I reckon we ought to tell Uncle Harvey she's gone out a while,
anyway, so he won't be uneasy about her?"

"Yes, Miss Mary Jane she wanted you to do that.  She says, 'Tell them to
give Uncle Harvey and William my love and a kiss, and say I've run over
the river to see Mr.'--Mr.--what IS the name of that rich family your
uncle Peter used to think so much of?--I mean the one that--"

"Why, you must mean the Apthorps, ain't it?"

"Of course; bother them kind of names, a body can't ever seem to remember
them, half the time, somehow.  Yes, she said, say she has run over for to
ask the Apthorps to be sure and come to the auction and buy this house,
because she allowed her uncle Peter would ruther they had it than anybody
else; and she's going to stick to them till they say they'll come, and
then, if she ain't too tired, she's coming home; and if she is, she'll be
home in the morning anyway.  She said, don't say nothing about the
Proctors, but only about the Apthorps--which 'll be perfectly true,
because she is going there to speak about their buying the house; I know
it, because she told me so herself."

"All right," they said, and cleared out to lay for their uncles, and give
them the love and the kisses, and tell them the message.

Everything was all right now.  The girls wouldn't say nothing because
they wanted to go to England; and the king and the duke would ruther Mary
Jane was off working for the auction than around in reach of Doctor
Robinson.  I felt very good; I judged I had done it pretty neat--I
reckoned Tom Sawyer couldn't a done it no neater himself.  Of course he
would a throwed more style into it, but I can't do that very handy, not
being brung up to it.

Well, they held the auction in the public square, along towards the end
of the afternoon, and it strung along, and strung along, and the old man
he was on hand and looking his level pisonest, up there longside of the
auctioneer, and chipping in a little Scripture now and then, or a little
goody-goody saying of some kind, and the duke he was around goo-gooing
for sympathy all he knowed how, and just spreading himself generly.

But by and by the thing dragged through, and everything was sold
--everything but a little old trifling lot in the graveyard.  So they'd got
to work that off--I never see such a girafft as the king was for wanting
to swallow EVERYTHING.  Well, whilst they was at it a steamboat landed,
and in about two minutes up comes a crowd a-whooping and yelling and
laughing and carrying on, and singing out:

"HERE'S your opposition line! here's your two sets o' heirs to old Peter
Wilks--and you pays your money and you takes your choice!"




CHAPTER XXIX.


THEY was fetching a very nice-looking old gentleman along, and a
nice-looking younger one, with his right arm in a sling.  And, my souls,
how the people yelled and laughed, and kept it up.  But I didn't see no
joke about it, and I judged it would strain the duke and the king some to
see any.  I reckoned they'd turn pale.  But no, nary a pale did THEY
turn. The duke he never let on he suspicioned what was up, but just went
a goo-gooing around, happy and satisfied, like a jug that's googling out
buttermilk; and as for the king, he just gazed and gazed down sorrowful
on them new-comers like it give him the stomach-ache in his very heart to
think there could be such frauds and rascals in the world.  Oh, he done
it admirable.  Lots of the principal people gethered around the king, to
let him see they was on his side.  That old gentleman that had just come
looked all puzzled to death.  Pretty soon he begun to speak, and I see
straight off he pronounced LIKE an Englishman--not the king's way, though
the king's WAS pretty good for an imitation.  I can't give the old gent's
words, nor I can't imitate him; but he turned around to the crowd, and
says, about like this:

"This is a surprise to me which I wasn't looking for; and I'll
acknowledge, candid and frank, I ain't very well fixed to meet it and
answer it; for my brother and me has had misfortunes; he's broke his arm,
and our baggage got put off at a town above here last night in the night
by a mistake.  I am Peter Wilks' brother Harvey, and this is his brother
William, which can't hear nor speak--and can't even make signs to amount
to much, now't he's only got one hand to work them with.  We are who we
say we are; and in a day or two, when I get the baggage, I can prove it.
But up till then I won't say nothing more, but go to the hotel and wait."

So him and the new dummy started off; and the king he laughs, and
blethers out:

"Broke his arm--VERY likely, AIN'T it?--and very convenient, too, for a
fraud that's got to make signs, and ain't learnt how.  Lost their
baggage! That's MIGHTY good!--and mighty ingenious--under the
CIRCUMSTANCES!"

So he laughed again; and so did everybody else, except three or four, or
maybe half a dozen.  One of these was that doctor; another one was a
sharp-looking gentleman, with a carpet-bag of the old-fashioned kind made
out of carpet-stuff, that had just come off of the steamboat and was
talking to him in a low voice, and glancing towards the king now and then
and nodding their heads--it was Levi Bell, the lawyer that was gone up to
Louisville; and another one was a big rough husky that come along and
listened to all the old gentleman said, and was listening to the king
now. And when the king got done this husky up and says:

"Say, looky here; if you are Harvey Wilks, when'd you come to this town?"

"The day before the funeral, friend," says the king.

"But what time o' day?"

"In the evenin'--'bout an hour er two before sundown."

"HOW'D you come?"

"I come down on the Susan Powell from Cincinnati."

"Well, then, how'd you come to be up at the Pint in the MORNIN'--in a
canoe?"

"I warn't up at the Pint in the mornin'."

"It's a lie."

Several of them jumped for him and begged him not to talk that way to an
old man and a preacher.

"Preacher be hanged, he's a fraud and a liar.  He was up at the Pint that
mornin'.  I live up there, don't I?  Well, I was up there, and he was up
there.  I see him there.  He come in a canoe, along with Tim Collins and
a boy."

The doctor he up and says:

"Would you know the boy again if you was to see him, Hines?"

"I reckon I would, but I don't know.  Why, yonder he is, now.  I know him
perfectly easy."

It was me he pointed at.  The doctor says:

"Neighbors, I don't know whether the new couple is frauds or not; but if
THESE two ain't frauds, I am an idiot, that's all.  I think it's our duty
to see that they don't get away from here till we've looked into this
thing. Come along, Hines; come along, the rest of you.  We'll take these
fellows to the tavern and affront them with t'other couple, and I reckon
we'll find out SOMETHING before we get through."

It was nuts for the crowd, though maybe not for the king's friends; so we
all started.  It was about sundown.  The doctor he led me along by the
hand, and was plenty kind enough, but he never let go my hand.

We all got in a big room in the hotel, and lit up some candles, and
fetched in the new couple.  First, the doctor says:

"I don't wish to be too hard on these two men, but I think they're
frauds, and they may have complices that we don't know nothing about.  If
they have, won't the complices get away with that bag of gold Peter Wilks
left?  It ain't unlikely.  If these men ain't frauds, they won't object
to sending for that money and letting us keep it till they prove they're
all right--ain't that so?"

Everybody agreed to that.  So I judged they had our gang in a pretty
tight place right at the outstart.  But the king he only looked
sorrowful, and says:

"Gentlemen, I wish the money was there, for I ain't got no disposition to
throw anything in the way of a fair, open, out-and-out investigation o'
this misable business; but, alas, the money ain't there; you k'n send and
see, if you want to."

"Where is it, then?"

"Well, when my niece give it to me to keep for her I took and hid it
inside o' the straw tick o' my bed, not wishin' to bank it for the few
days we'd be here, and considerin' the bed a safe place, we not bein'
used to <DW65>s, and suppos'n' 'em honest, like servants in England.  The
<DW65>s stole it the very next mornin' after I had went down stairs; and
when I sold 'em I hadn't missed the money yit, so they got clean away
with it.  My servant here k'n tell you 'bout it, gentlemen."

The doctor and several said "Shucks!" and I see nobody didn't altogether
believe him.  One man asked me if I see the <DW65>s steal it.  I said no,
but I see them sneaking out of the room and hustling away, and I never
thought nothing, only I reckoned they was afraid they had waked up my
master and was trying to get away before he made trouble with them.  That
was all they asked me.  Then the doctor whirls on me and says:

"Are YOU English, too?"

I says yes; and him and some others laughed, and said, "Stuff!"

Well, then they sailed in on the general investigation, and there we had
it, up and down, hour in, hour out, and nobody never said a word about
supper, nor ever seemed to think about it--and so they kept it up, and
kept it up; and it WAS the worst mixed-up thing you ever see.  They made
the king tell his yarn, and they made the old gentleman tell his'n; and
anybody but a lot of prejudiced chuckleheads would a SEEN that the old
gentleman was spinning truth and t'other one lies.  And by and by they
had me up to tell what I knowed.  The king he give me a left-handed look
out of the corner of his eye, and so I knowed enough to talk on the right
side.  I begun to tell about Sheffield, and how we lived there, and all
about the English Wilkses, and so on; but I didn't get pretty fur till
the doctor begun to laugh; and Levi Bell, the lawyer, says:

"Set down, my boy; I wouldn't strain myself if I was you.  I reckon you
ain't used to lying, it don't seem to come handy; what you want is
practice.  You do it pretty awkward."

I didn't care nothing for the compliment, but I was glad to be let off,
anyway.

The doctor he started to say something, and turns and says:

"If you'd been in town at first, Levi Bell--" The king broke in and
reached out his hand, and says:

"Why, is this my poor dead brother's old friend that he's wrote so often
about?"

The lawyer and him shook hands, and the lawyer smiled and looked pleased,
and they talked right along awhile, and then got to one side and talked
low; and at last the lawyer speaks up and says:

"That 'll fix it.  I'll take the order and send it, along with your
brother's, and then they'll know it's all right."

So they got some paper and a pen, and the king he set down and twisted
his head to one side, and chawed his tongue, and scrawled off something;
and then they give the pen to the duke--and then for the first time the
duke looked sick.  But he took the pen and wrote.  So then the lawyer
turns to the new old gentleman and says:

"You and your brother please write a line or two and sign your names."

The old gentleman wrote, but nobody couldn't read it.  The lawyer looked
powerful astonished, and says:

"Well, it beats ME"--and snaked a lot of old letters out of his pocket,
and examined them, and then examined the old man's writing, and then THEM
again; and then says:  "These old letters is from Harvey Wilks; and
here's THESE two handwritings, and anybody can see they didn't write
them" (the king and the duke looked sold and foolish, I tell you, to see
how the lawyer had took them in), "and here's THIS old gentleman's hand
writing, and anybody can tell, easy enough, HE didn't write them--fact
is, the scratches he makes ain't properly WRITING at all.  Now, here's
some letters from--"

The new old gentleman says:

"If you please, let me explain.  Nobody can read my hand but my brother
there--so he copies for me.  It's HIS hand you've got there, not mine."

"WELL!" says the lawyer, "this IS a state of things.  I've got some of
William's letters, too; so if you'll get him to write a line or so we can
com--"

"He CAN'T write with his left hand," says the old gentleman.  "If he
could use his right hand, you would see that he wrote his own letters and
mine too.  Look at both, please--they're by the same hand."

The lawyer done it, and says:

"I believe it's so--and if it ain't so, there's a heap stronger
resemblance than I'd noticed before, anyway.  Well, well, well!  I
thought we was right on the track of a solution, but it's gone to grass,
partly.  But anyway, one thing is proved--THESE two ain't either of 'em
Wilkses"--and he wagged his head towards the king and the duke.

Well, what do you think?  That muleheaded old fool wouldn't give in THEN!
Indeed he wouldn't.  Said it warn't no fair test.  Said his brother
William was the cussedest joker in the world, and hadn't tried to write
--HE see William was going to play one of his jokes the minute he put the
pen to paper.  And so he warmed up and went warbling right along till he
was actuly beginning to believe what he was saying HIMSELF; but pretty
soon the new gentleman broke in, and says:

"I've thought of something.  Is there anybody here that helped to lay out
my br--helped to lay out the late Peter Wilks for burying?"

"Yes," says somebody, "me and Ab Turner done it.  We're both here."

Then the old man turns towards the king, and says:

"Perhaps this gentleman can tell me what was tattooed on his breast?"

Blamed if the king didn't have to brace up mighty quick, or he'd a
squshed down like a bluff bank that the river has cut under, it took him
so sudden; and, mind you, it was a thing that was calculated to make most
ANYBODY sqush to get fetched such a solid one as that without any notice,
because how was HE going to know what was tattooed on the man?  He
whitened a little; he couldn't help it; and it was mighty still in there,
and everybody bending a little forwards and gazing at him.  Says I to
myself, NOW he'll throw up the sponge--there ain't no more use.  Well,
did he?  A body can't hardly believe it, but he didn't.  I reckon he
thought he'd keep the thing up till he tired them people out, so they'd
thin out, and him and the duke could break loose and get away.  Anyway,
he set there, and pretty soon he begun to smile, and says:

"Mf!  It's a VERY tough question, AIN'T it!  YES, sir, I k'n tell you
what's tattooed on his breast.  It's jest a small, thin, blue arrow
--that's what it is; and if you don't look clost, you can't see it.  NOW
what do you say--hey?"

Well, I never see anything like that old blister for clean out-and-out
cheek.

The new old gentleman turns brisk towards Ab Turner and his pard, and his
eye lights up like he judged he'd got the king THIS time, and says:

"There--you've heard what he said!  Was there any such mark on Peter
Wilks' breast?"

Both of them spoke up and says:

"We didn't see no such mark."

"Good!" says the old gentleman.  "Now, what you DID see on his breast was
a small dim P, and a B (which is an initial he dropped when he was
young), and a W, with dashes between them, so:  P--B--W"--and he marked
them that way on a piece of paper.  "Come, ain't that what you saw?"

Both of them spoke up again, and says:

"No, we DIDN'T.  We never seen any marks at all."

Well, everybody WAS in a state of mind now, and they sings out:

"The whole BILIN' of 'm 's frauds!  Le's duck 'em! le's drown 'em! le's
ride 'em on a rail!" and everybody was whooping at once, and there was a
rattling powwow.  But the lawyer he jumps on the table and yells, and
says:

"Gentlemen--gentleMEN!  Hear me just a word--just a SINGLE word--if you
PLEASE!  There's one way yet--let's go and dig up the corpse and look."

That took them.

"Hooray!" they all shouted, and was starting right off; but the lawyer
and the doctor sung out:

"Hold on, hold on!  Collar all these four men and the boy, and fetch THEM
along, too!"

"We'll do it!" they all shouted; "and if we don't find them marks we'll
lynch the whole gang!"

I WAS scared, now, I tell you.  But there warn't no getting away, you
know. They gripped us all, and marched us right along, straight for the
graveyard, which was a mile and a half down the river, and the whole town
at our heels, for we made noise enough, and it was only nine in the
evening.

As we went by our house I wished I hadn't sent Mary Jane out of town;
because now if I could tip her the wink she'd light out and save me, and
blow on our dead-beats.

Well, we swarmed along down the river road, just carrying on like
wildcats; and to make it more scary the sky was darking up, and the
lightning beginning to wink and flitter, and the wind to shiver amongst
the leaves. This was the most awful trouble and most dangersome I ever
was in; and I was kinder stunned; everything was going so different from
what I had allowed for; stead of being fixed so I could take my own time
if I wanted to, and see all the fun, and have Mary Jane at my back to
save me and set me free when the close-fit come, here was nothing in the
world betwixt me and sudden death but just them tattoo-marks.  If they
didn't find them--

I couldn't bear to think about it; and yet, somehow, I couldn't think
about nothing else.  It got darker and darker, and it was a beautiful
time to give the crowd the slip; but that big husky had me by the wrist
--Hines--and a body might as well try to give Goliar the slip.  He dragged
me right along, he was so excited, and I had to run to keep up.

When they got there they swarmed into the graveyard and washed over it
like an overflow.  And when they got to the grave they found they had
about a hundred times as many shovels as they wanted, but nobody hadn't
thought to fetch a lantern.  But they sailed into digging anyway by the
flicker of the lightning, and sent a man to the nearest house, a half a
mile off, to borrow one.

So they dug and dug like everything; and it got awful dark, and the rain
started, and the wind swished and swushed along, and the lightning come
brisker and brisker, and the thunder boomed; but them people never took
no notice of it, they was so full of this business; and one minute you
could see everything and every face in that big crowd, and the shovelfuls
of dirt sailing up out of the grave, and the next second the dark wiped
it all out, and you couldn't see nothing at all.

At last they got out the coffin and begun to unscrew the lid, and then
such another crowding and shouldering and shoving as there was, to
scrouge in and get a sight, you never see; and in the dark, that way, it
was awful.  Hines he hurt my wrist dreadful pulling and tugging so, and I
reckon he clean forgot I was in the world, he was so excited and panting.

All of a sudden the lightning let go a perfect sluice of white glare, and
somebody sings out:

"By the living jingo, here's the bag of gold on his breast!"

Hines let out a whoop, like everybody else, and dropped my wrist and give
a big surge to bust his way in and get a look, and the way I lit out and
shinned for the road in the dark there ain't nobody can tell.

I had the road all to myself, and I fairly flew--leastways, I had it all
to myself except the solid dark, and the now-and-then glares, and the
buzzing of the rain, and the thrashing of the wind, and the splitting of
the thunder; and sure as you are born I did clip it along!

When I struck the town I see there warn't nobody out in the storm, so I
never hunted for no back streets, but humped it straight through the main
one; and when I begun to get towards our house I aimed my eye and set it.
No light there; the house all dark--which made me feel sorry and
disappointed, I didn't know why.  But at last, just as I was sailing by,
FLASH comes the light in Mary Jane's window! and my heart swelled up
sudden, like to bust; and the same second the house and all was behind me
in the dark, and wasn't ever going to be before me no more in this world.
She WAS the best girl I ever see, and had the most sand.

The minute I was far enough above the town to see I could make the
towhead, I begun to look sharp for a boat to borrow, and the first time
the lightning showed me one that wasn't chained I snatched it and shoved.
It was a canoe, and warn't fastened with nothing but a rope.  The towhead
was a rattling big distance off, away out there in the middle of the
river, but I didn't lose no time; and when I struck the raft at last I
was so fagged I would a just laid down to blow and gasp if I could
afforded it.  But I didn't.  As I sprung aboard I sung out:

"Out with you, Jim, and set her loose!  Glory be to goodness, we're shut
of them!"

Jim lit out, and was a-coming for me with both arms spread, he was so
full of joy; but when I glimpsed him in the lightning my heart shot up in
my mouth and I went overboard backwards; for I forgot he was old King
Lear and a drownded A-rab all in one, and it most scared the livers and
lights out of me.  But Jim fished me out, and was going to hug me and
bless me, and so on, he was so glad I was back and we was shut of the
king and the duke, but I says:

"Not now; have it for breakfast, have it for breakfast!  Cut loose and
let her slide!"

So in two seconds away we went a-sliding down the river, and it DID seem
so good to be free again and all by ourselves on the big river, and
nobody to bother us.  I had to skip around a bit, and jump up and crack
my heels a few times--I couldn't help it; but about the third crack I
noticed a sound that I knowed mighty well, and held my breath and
listened and waited; and sure enough, when the next flash busted out over
the water, here they come!--and just a-laying to their oars and making
their skiff hum!  It was the king and the duke.

So I wilted right down on to the planks then, and give up; and it was all
I could do to keep from crying.




CHAPTER XXX.

WHEN they got aboard the king went for me, and shook me by the collar,
and says:

"Tryin' to give us the slip, was ye, you pup!  Tired of our company,
hey?"

I says:

"No, your majesty, we warn't--PLEASE don't, your majesty!"

"Quick, then, and tell us what WAS your idea, or I'll shake the insides
out o' you!"

"Honest, I'll tell you everything just as it happened, your majesty.  The
man that had a-holt of me was very good to me, and kept saying he had a
boy about as big as me that died last year, and he was sorry to see a boy
in such a dangerous fix; and when they was all took by surprise by
finding the gold, and made a rush for the coffin, he lets go of me and
whispers, 'Heel it now, or they'll hang ye, sure!' and I lit out.  It
didn't seem no good for ME to stay--I couldn't do nothing, and I didn't
want to be hung if I could get away.  So I never stopped running till I
found the canoe; and when I got here I told Jim to hurry, or they'd catch
me and hang me yet, and said I was afeard you and the duke wasn't alive
now, and I was awful sorry, and so was Jim, and was awful glad when we
see you coming; you may ask Jim if I didn't."

Jim said it was so; and the king told him to shut up, and said, "Oh, yes,
it's MIGHTY likely!" and shook me up again, and said he reckoned he'd
drownd me.  But the duke says:

"Leggo the boy, you old idiot!  Would YOU a done any different?  Did you
inquire around for HIM when you got loose?  I don't remember it."

So the king let go of me, and begun to cuss that town and everybody in
it. But the duke says:

"You better a blame' sight give YOURSELF a good cussing, for you're the
one that's entitled to it most.  You hain't done a thing from the start
that had any sense in it, except coming out so cool and cheeky with that
imaginary blue-arrow mark.  That WAS bright--it was right down bully; and
it was the thing that saved us.  For if it hadn't been for that they'd a
jailed us till them Englishmen's baggage come--and then--the
penitentiary, you bet! But that trick took 'em to the graveyard, and the
gold done us a still bigger kindness; for if the excited fools hadn't let
go all holts and made that rush to get a look we'd a slept in our cravats
to-night--cravats warranted to WEAR, too--longer than WE'D need 'em."

They was still a minute--thinking; then the king says, kind of
absent-minded like:

"Mf!  And we reckoned the <DW65>s stole it!"

That made me squirm!

"Yes," says the duke, kinder slow and deliberate and sarcastic, "WE did."

After about a half a minute the king drawls out:

"Leastways, I did."

The duke says, the same way:

"On the contrary, I did."

The king kind of ruffles up, and says:

"Looky here, Bilgewater, what'r you referrin' to?"

The duke says, pretty brisk:

"When it comes to that, maybe you'll let me ask, what was YOU referring
to?"

"Shucks!" says the king, very sarcastic; "but I don't know--maybe you was
asleep, and didn't know what you was about."

The duke bristles up now, and says:

"Oh, let UP on this cussed nonsense; do you take me for a blame' fool?
Don't you reckon I know who hid that money in that coffin?"

"YES, sir!  I know you DO know, because you done it yourself!"

"It's a lie!"--and the duke went for him.  The king sings out:

"Take y'r hands off!--leggo my throat!--I take it all back!"

The duke says:

"Well, you just own up, first, that you DID hide that money there,
intending to give me the slip one of these days, and come back and dig it
up, and have it all to yourself."

"Wait jest a minute, duke--answer me this one question, honest and fair;
if you didn't put the money there, say it, and I'll b'lieve you, and take
back everything I said."

"You old scoundrel, I didn't, and you know I didn't.  There, now!"

"Well, then, I b'lieve you.  But answer me only jest this one more--now
DON'T git mad; didn't you have it in your mind to hook the money and hide
it?"

The duke never said nothing for a little bit; then he says:

"Well, I don't care if I DID, I didn't DO it, anyway.  But you not only
had it in mind to do it, but you DONE it."

"I wisht I never die if I done it, duke, and that's honest.  I won't say
I warn't goin' to do it, because I WAS; but you--I mean somebody--got in
ahead o' me."

"It's a lie!  You done it, and you got to SAY you done it, or--"

The king began to gurgle, and then he gasps out:

"'Nough!--I OWN UP!"

I was very glad to hear him say that; it made me feel much more easier
than what I was feeling before.  So the duke took his hands off and says:

"If you ever deny it again I'll drown you.  It's WELL for you to set
there and blubber like a baby--it's fitten for you, after the way you've
acted. I never see such an old ostrich for wanting to gobble everything
--and I a-trusting you all the time, like you was my own father.  You ought
to been ashamed of yourself to stand by and hear it saddled on to a lot
of poor <DW65>s, and you never say a word for 'em.  It makes me feel
ridiculous to think I was soft enough to BELIEVE that rubbage.  Cuss you,
I can see now why you was so anxious to make up the deffisit--you wanted
to get what money I'd got out of the Nonesuch and one thing or another,
and scoop it ALL!"

The king says, timid, and still a-snuffling:

"Why, duke, it was you that said make up the deffisit; it warn't me."

"Dry up!  I don't want to hear no more out of you!" says the duke.  "And
NOW you see what you GOT by it.  They've got all their own money back,
and all of OURN but a shekel or two BESIDES.  G'long to bed, and don't
you deffersit ME no more deffersits, long 's YOU live!"

So the king sneaked into the wigwam and took to his bottle for comfort,
and before long the duke tackled HIS bottle; and so in about a half an
hour they was as thick as thieves again, and the tighter they got the
lovinger they got, and went off a-snoring in each other's arms.  They
both got powerful mellow, but I noticed the king didn't get mellow enough
to forget to remember to not deny about hiding the money-bag again.  That
made me feel easy and satisfied.  Of course when they got to snoring we
had a long gabble, and I told Jim everything.





End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, Part 6
by Mark Twain (Samuel Clemens)

*** 