Adventures of Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain (good book club books .TXT) đ
- Author: Mark Twain
- Performer: 0142437174
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But this time I somehow got to talking to him about his wife and young ones; and by and by he says:
âWhat makes me feel so bad dis time âuz bekase I hear sumpn over yonder on de bank like a whack, er a slam, while ago, en it mine me er de time I treat my little âLizabeth so ornery. She warnât onây âbout foâ year ole, en she tuck de skâyarlet fever, en had a powful rough spell; but she got well, en one day she was a-stanninâ arounâ, en I says to her, I says:
ââShet de doâ.â
âShe never done it; jisâ stood dah, kiner smilinâ up at me. It make me mad; en I says agin, mighty loud, I says:
ââDoanâ you hear me? Shet de doâ!â
âShe jis stood de same way, kiner smilinâ up. I was a-bilinâ! I says:
ââI lay I make you mine!â
âEn wid dat I fetchâ her a slap side de head dat sont her a-sprawlinâ. Den I went into de yuther room, en âuz gone âbout ten minutes; en when I come back dah was dat doâ a-stanninâ open yit, en dat chile stanninâ mosâ right in it, a-lookinâ down and mourninâ, en de tears runninâ down. My, but I wuz mad! I was a-gwyne for de chile, but jisâ denâit was a doâ dat open innerdsâjisâ den, âlong come de wind en slam it to, behine de chile, ker-BLAM!âen my lanâ, de chile never moveâ! My breff mosâ hop outer me; en I feel soâsoâI doanâ know HOW I feel. I crope out, all a-tremblinâ, en crope arounâ en open de doâ easy en slow, en poke my head in behine de chile, sofâ en still, en all uv a sudden I says POW! jisâ as loud as I could yell. She never budge! Oh, Huck, I bust out a-cryinâ en grab her up in my arms, en say, âOh, de poâ little thing! De Lord God Amighty fogive poâ ole Jim, kaze he never gwyne to fogive hisself as longâs he live!â Oh, she was plumb deef en dumb, Huck, plumb deef en dumbâen Iâd ben a-treatân her so!â
CHAPTER XXIV.
NEXT day, towards night, we laid up under a little willow towhead out in the middle, where there was a village on each side of the river, and the duke and the king begun to lay out a plan for working them towns. Jim he spoke to the duke, and said he hoped it wouldnât take but a few hours, because it got mighty heavy and tiresome to him when he had to lay all day in the wigwam tied with the rope. You see, when we left him all alone we had to tie him, because if anybody happened on to him all by himself and not tied it wouldnât look much like he was a runaway nigger, you know. So the duke said it was kind of hard to have to lay roped all day, and heâd cipher out some way to get around it.
He was uncommon bright, the duke was, and he soon struck it. He dressed Jim up in King Learâs outfitâit was a long curtain-calico gown, and a white horse-hair wig and whiskers; and then he took his theater paint and painted Jimâs face and hands and ears and neck all over a dead, dull, solid blue, like a man thatâs been drownded nine days. Blamed if he warnât the horriblest looking outrage I ever see. Then the duke took and wrote out a sign on a shingle so:
Sick Arabâbut harmless when not out of his head.
And he nailed that shingle to a lath, and stood the lath up four or five foot in front of the wigwam. Jim was satisfied. He said it was a sight better than lying tied a couple of years every day, and trembling all over every time there was a sound. The duke told him to make himself free and easy, and if anybody ever come meddling around, he must hop out of the wigwam, and carry on a little, and fetch a howl or two like a wild beast, and he reckoned they would light out and leave him alone. Which was sound enough judgment; but you take the average man, and he wouldnât wait for him to howl. Why, he didnât only look like he was dead, he looked considerable more than that.
These rapscallions wanted to try the Nonesuch again, because there was so much money in it, but they judged it wouldnât be safe, because maybe the news might a worked along down by this time. They couldnât hit no project that suited exactly; so at last the duke said he reckoned heâd lay off and work his brains an hour or two and see if he couldnât put up something on the Arkansaw village; and the king he allowed he would drop over to tâother village without any plan, but just trust in Providence to lead him the profitable wayâmeaning the devil, I reckon. We had all bought store clothes where we stopped last; and now the king put hisân on, and he told me to put mine on. I done it, of course. The kingâs duds was all black, and he did look real swell and starchy. I never knowed how clothes could change a body before. Why, before, he looked like the orneriest old rip that ever was; but now, when heâd take off his new white beaver and make a bow and do a smile, he looked that grand and good and pious that youâd say he had walked right out of the ark, and maybe was old Leviticus himself. Jim cleaned up the canoe, and I got my paddle ready. There was a big steamboat laying at the shore away up under the point, about three mile above the townâbeen there a couple of hours, taking on freight. Says the king:
âSeeinâ how Iâm dressed, I reckon maybe I better arrive down from St. Louis or Cincinnati, or some other big place. Go for the steamboat, Huckleberry; weâll come down to the village on her.â
I didnât have to be ordered twice to go and take a steamboat ride. I fetched the shore a half a mile above the village, and then went scooting along the bluff bank in the easy water. Pretty soon we come to a nice innocent-looking young country jake setting on a log swabbing the sweat off of his face, for it was powerful warm weather; and he had a couple of big carpet-bags by him.
âRun her nose in shore,â says the king. I done it. "Wherâ you bound for, young man?â
âFor the steamboat; going to Orleans.â
âGit aboard,â says the king. "Hold on a minute, my servant âll heâp you with them bags. Jump out and heâp the gentleman, Adolphusââmeaning me, I see.
I done so, and then we all three started on again. The young chap was mighty thankful; said it was tough work toting his baggage such weather. He asked the king where he was going, and the king told him heâd come down the river and landed at the other village this morning, and now he was going up a few mile to see an old friend on a farm up there. The young fellow says:
âWhen I first see you I says to myself, âItâs Mr. Wilks, sure, and he come mighty near getting here in time.â But then I says again, âNo, I reckon it ainât him, or else he wouldnât be paddling up the river.â You ainât him, are you?â
âNo, my nameâs BlodgettâElexander BlodgettâReverend Elexander Blodgett, I sâpose I must say, as Iâm one oâ the Lordâs poor servants. But still Iâm jist as able to be sorry for Mr. Wilks for not arriving in time, all the same, if heâs missed anything by itâwhich I hope he hasnât.â
âWell, he donât miss any property by it, because heâll get that all right; but heâs missed seeing his brother Peter dieâwhich he maynât mind, nobody can tell as to thatâbut his brother would a give anything in this world to see him before he died; never talked about nothing else all these three weeks; hadnât seen him since they was boys togetherâand hadnât ever seen his brother William at allâthatâs the deef and dumb oneâWilliam ainât more than thirty or thirty-five. Peter and George were the only ones that come out here; George was the married brother; him and his wife both died last year. Harvey and Williamâs the only ones thatâs left now; and, as I was saying, they havenât got here in time.â
âDid anybody send âem word?â
âOh, yes; a month or two ago, when Peter was first took; because Peter said then that he sorter felt like he warnât going to get well this time. You see, he was pretty old, and Georgeâs gâyirls was too young to be much company for him, except Mary Jane, the red-headed one; and so he was kinder lonesome after George and his wife died, and didnât seem to care much to live. He most desperately wanted to see Harveyâand William, too, for that matterâbecause he was one of them kind that canât bear to make a will. He left a letter behind for Harvey, and said heâd told in it where his money was hid, and how he wanted the rest of the property divided up so Georgeâs gâyirls would be all rightâfor George didnât leave nothing. And that letter was all they could get him to put a pen to.â
âWhy do you reckon Harvey donât come? Wherâ does he live?â
âOh, he lives in EnglandâSheffieldâpreaches thereâhasnât ever been in this country. He hasnât had any too much timeâand besides he mightnât a got the letter at all, you know.â
âToo bad, too bad he couldnât a lived to see his brothers, poor soul. You going to Orleans, you say?â
âYes, but that ainât only a part of it. Iâm going in a ship, next Wednesday, for Ryo Janeero, where my uncle lives.â
âItâs a pretty long journey. But itâll be lovely; wisht I was a-going. Is Mary Jane the oldest? How old is the others?â
âMary Janeâs nineteen, Susanâs fifteen, and Joannaâs about fourteenâthatâs the one that gives herself to good works and has a hare-lip.â
âPoor things! to be left alone in the cold world so.â
âWell, they could be worse off. Old Peter had friends, and they ainât going to let them come to no harm. Thereâs Hobson, the Babtisâ preacher; and Deacon Lot Hovey, and Ben Rucker, and Abner Shackleford, and Levi Bell, the lawyer; and Dr. Robinson, and their wives, and the widow Bartley, andâwell, thereâs a lot of them; but these are the ones that Peter was thickest with, and used to write about sometimes, when he wrote home; so Harvey âll know where to look for friends when he gets here.â
Well, the old man went on asking questions till he just fairly emptied that young fellow. Blamed if he didnât inquire about everybody and everything in that blessed town, and all about the Wilkses; and about Peterâs businessâwhich was a tanner; and about Georgeâsâwhich was a carpenter; and about Harveyâsâwhich was a dissentering minister; and so on, and so on. Then he says:
âWhat did you want to
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