Huckleberry Finn by Dave Mckay, Mark Twain (dark books to read TXT) đ
- Author: Dave Mckay, Mark Twain
Book online «Huckleberry Finn by Dave Mckay, Mark Twain (dark books to read TXT) đ». Author Dave Mckay, Mark Twain
âBlamed if I know -- that is, whatâs become of the raft. That stupid old man had done some business and got forty dollars, and when we found him in the pub some of the local boys had tricked him out of every cent but what heâd spent for whiskey; and when I got him home late last night and found the raft gone, we said, âThat little devil has robbed our raft and shook us, and run off down the river.ââ
âI wouldnât shake my black man, would I? -- the only black man I had in the world, and the only wealth.â
âWe never thought of that. Truth is, I think weâd come to think of him as our black man; yes, we did think that -- God knows we had trouble enough for him. So when we seen the raft was gone and we had nothing, there werenât anything for it but to give The Kingâs Foolishness another shake. And Iâve been two days now without a drink. Whereâs that ten cents? Give it here.â
I had enough other money, so I give him ten cents, but begged him to spend it for something to eat, and give me some, because it was all the money I had, and I hadnât had nothing to eat since yesterday. He never said nothing. The next minute he turns on me and says:
âDo you think that black man would blow on us? Weâd skin him if he done that!â
âHow can he blow? Ainât he run off?â
âNo! The old man sold him, and never give any to me, and the moneyâs gone.â
âSold him?â I says, and started to cry. âHe's my black man, and that was my money. Where is he? -- I want my black man.â
âWell, you canât get your black man, thatâs all -- so dry up your crying. Look here -- do you think youâd try to blow on us? I donât think I trust you. Why, if you was to blow on us -- â
He stopped, but I never seen the duke look so ugly out of his eyes before. I went on a-crying, and says: âI donât want to blow on nobody; and I ainât got no time to blow, anyway. I got to turn out and find my black man.â
He looked kind of worried, and stood there with his papers in his hands, thinking, and squeezing up the front of his head. At last he says: âIâll tell you something. We got to be here three days. If youâll promise you wonât blow, and wonât let the black man blow, Iâll tell you where to find him.â
So I promised, and he says: âA farmer by the name of Silas Ph -- -- â and then he stopped. You see, he started to tell me the truth; but when he stopped that way, and started to study and think again, I believed he was changing his plan. And so he was. He wouldnât trust me; he wanted to make sure of having me out of the way the whole three days. So pretty soon he says: âThe man that has him is named Abram Foster -- Abram G. Foster -- and he lives forty miles back here in the country, on the road to Lafayette.â
âAll right,â I says, âI can walk it in three days. And Iâll start this very afternoon.â
âNo you won't, youâll start now; and donât you lose any time about it, either, or do any talking by the way. Just keep a tight tongue in your head and move right along, and then you wonât get into trouble with us, do you hear?â
That was the rule I wanted, and that was the one I had been playing for. I wanted to be left free to work my plans.
âSo move out,â he says; âand you can tell Mr. Foster what- ever you want to. Maybe you can get him to believe that Jim is your black man -- some stupid people donât ask for papers -- at least Iâve heard thereâs such down South here. And when you tell him the advertisement and the rewardâs false, maybe heâll believe you when you tell him why we printed them in the first place. Go along now, and tell him anything you want to; but just donât work your mouth any between here and there.â
So I left, and headed for the back country. I didnât look around, but I kind of felt like he was watching me. But I knowed I could tire him out at that. I went straight out in the country as much as a mile before I stopped; then I came back through the trees toward Phelpsâs. I knew I needed to start in on my plan straight off without wasting time, because I wanted to stop Jimâs mouth until these two could get away. I didnât want no trouble with their kind. Iâd seen all I wanted to of them, and wanted to get perfectly free of them.
Chapter 32
When I got there it was all quiet and Sunday-like, and hot and sunny; the workers was gone to the fields; and there was them kind of soft sounds of flies in the air that makes it seem so empty and like everybodyâs dead and gone; and if a little wind shakes the leaves it makes you feel sad, because you feel like itâs spirits whispering -- spirits thatâs been dead ever so many years -- and you always think theyâre talking about you. As a general thing it makes a body wish he was dead, too, and done with it all.
Phelpsâs was one of those little one-horse cotton farms, and they all look the same. A timber fence around a yard; steps over the fence made out of vertical logs in the ground, like barrels of different lengths, to climb over the fence with; some places in the big yard with a little sick grass growing in it, but mostly just smooth dirt, like an old hat with the soft part rubbed off; big log house for the white people -- with the holes stopped up with mud that had been white-washed some time or another; log kitchen, with a big wide, roofed footpath joining it to the house; log smoke-house back of the kitchen; three little log servant cabins in a line tâother side of the smoke-house; one little room all by itself away down against the back fence, and some other buildings down a piece the other side; box for ashes and a big kettle to make soap by the little room; bench by the kitchen door, with a bucket of water; dog asleep there in the sun; more dogs asleep around about; about three trees away off in a corner; some berry bushes in one place by the fence; outside of the fence a garden and a field of watermelons; then the cotton fields starts, and after the fields the trees.
I went around and climbed over the steps by the box of ashes, and started for the kitchen. When I got a little ways I heard the quiet sound of a spinning-wheel going up and then coming down again; and then I knowed for sure I wished I was dead -- for that IS the saddest sound in the whole world.
I went right along, not fixing up any special plan, but just trusting to God to put the right words in my mouth when the time come; for Iâd learned that He always did put the right words in my mouth if I left it alone.
When I got half-way, first one dog and then another got up and went for me, and so I stopped and faced them, and didnât move. And such a lot of noise they made! In a few seconds I was kind of the middle of a wheel, as you may say, with a circle of fifteen dogs pointing at me in the centre, with their necks and noses reaching up toward me, making all kinds of noise; and more a-coming; you could see them sailing over fences and around corners from everywhere.
A black woman come running out of the kitchen with a stick in her hand, singing out, âStop that you Tiger! you Spot! get out of here!â and she hit first one and then another of them with the stick and sent them running off crying, and then the others followed; and the next second half of them come back, shaking their tails around me, and making friends with me. There ainât no bad in a dog, no way.
And behind the woman comes a little black girl and two little black boys without anything on but shirts, and they was hanging onto their motherâs dress, and looked out from behind her at me, shy, the way they always do. And here comes the white woman running from the house, about forty-five or fifty years old, with a stick in her hand too; and behind her comes her little white children, acting the same way the little black ones did. She was smiling all over so she could hardly stand -- and says: âItâs you, at last! -- ainât it?â
I out with a âYes ma'amâ before I thought.
She took me and hugged me tight; and then held me by both hands and shook and shook; and the tears come in her eyes, and run down over; and she couldnât seem to hug and shake enough, and kept saying, âYou donât look as much like your mother as I thought you would; but Iâm not worried about that, Iâm so glad to see you! My, my, it does seem like I could eat you up! Children, itâs your cousin Tom! -- tell him hello.â
But they dropped their heads, and put their fingers in their mouths, and went behind her. So she run on: âLize, hurry up and get him a hot breakfast right away -- or did you get your breakfast on the boat?â
I said I had got it on the boat. So then she started for the house,leading me by the hand, and the children coming after. When we got there she sat me down in a chair, and sat herself down on a little box in front of me, holding both of my hands, and says:
âNow I can have a good look at you; and, my, my, Iâve been hungry for it many a time, all these long years, and itâs come at last! We been thinking you would be here for two days and more. What kept you? -- boat go to ground?â
âYes ma'am -- she -- â
âDonât say ma'am; say Aunt Sally. Whereâd she go to ground?â
I didnât really know what to say, because I didnât know if the boat would be coming up the river or down. But I go a good lot on feelings; and my feeling said she would be coming
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