WELL, three or four months run
along, and it was well into the
winter now. I had been to school
most all the time and could spell
and read and write just a little,
and could say the multiplication
table up to six times seven is
thirty-five, and I don't reckon
I could ever get any further
than that if I was to live forever.
I don't take no stock in mathematics,
anyway.
At first I hated the school,
but by and by I got so I could
stand it. Whenever I got uncommon
tired I played hookey, and the
hiding I got next day done me
good and cheered me up. So the
longer I went to school the easier
it got to be. I was getting sort
of used to the widow's ways,
too, and they warn't so raspy
on me. Living in a house and
sleeping in a bed pulled on me
pretty tight mostly, but before
the cold weather I used to slide
out and sleep in the woods sometimes,
and so that was a rest to me.
I liked the old ways best, but
I was getting so I liked the
new ones, too, a little bit.
The widow said I was coming along
slow but sure, and doing very
satisfactory. She said she warn't
ashamed of me.
One morning
I happened to turn over the
salt-cellar at breakfast.
I reached for some of it as quick
as I could to throw over my left
shoulder and keep off the bad
luck, but Miss Watson was in
ahead of me, and crossed me off.
She says, "Take your hands away,
Huckleberry; what a mess you
are always making!" The widow
put in a good word for me, but
that warn't going to keep off
the bad luck, I knowed that well
enough. I started out, after
breakfast, feeling worried and
shaky, and wondering where it
was going to fall on me, and
what it was going to be. There
is ways to keep off some kinds
of bad luck, but this wasn't
one of them kind; so I never
tried to do anything, but just
poked along low-spirited and
on the watch-out.
I went down to the front garden
and clumb over the stile where
you go through the high board
fence. There was an inch of new
snow on the ground, and I seen
somebody's tracks. They had come
up from the quarry and stood
around the stile a while, and
then went on around the garden
fence. It was funny they hadn't
come in, after standing around
so. I couldn't make it out. It
was very curious, somehow. I
was going to follow around, but
I stooped down to look at the
tracks first. I didn't notice
anything at first, but next I
did. There was a cross in the
left boot-heel made with big
nails, to keep off the devil.
I was up in a second and shinning
down the hill. I looked over
my shoulder every now and then,
but I didn't see nobody. I was
at Judge Thatcher's as quick
as I could get there. He said:
"Why, my boy,
you are all out of breath.
Did you come for your
interest?"
"No, sir," I says; "is
there some for me?"
"Oh, yes, a
half-yearly is in last night
-- over a hundred
and fifty dollars. Quite a fortune
for you. You had better let me
invest it along with your six
thousand, because if you take
it you'll spend it."
"No, sir," I says, "I
don't want to spend it. I don't
want
it at all -- nor the six thousand,
nuther. I want you to take it;
I want to give it to you -- the
six thousand and all."
He looked surprised. He couldn't
seem to make it out. He says:
"Why, what
can you mean, my boy?"
I says, "Don't
you ask me no questions about
it, please. You'll
take it -- won't you?"
He says:
"Well, I'm
puzzled. Is something the matter?"
"Please take it," says I, "and
don't ask me nothing -- then
I won't have to tell no lies."
He studied a while, and then
he says:
"Oho-o! I think
I see. You want to SELL all
your property
to me -- not give it. That's
the correct idea."
Then he wrote something on
a paper and read it over, and
says:
"There; you
see it says 'for a consideration.'
That means
I have bought it of you and paid
you for it. Here's a dollar for
you. Now you sign it."
So I signed it, and left.
Miss Watson's nigger, Jim,
had a hair-ball as big as your
fist, which had been took out
of the fourth stomach of an ox,
and he used to do magic with
it. He said there was a spirit
inside of it, and it knowed everything.
So I went to him that night and
told him pap was here again,
for I found his tracks in the
snow. What I wanted to know was,
what he was going to do, and
was he going to stay? Jim got
out his hair-ball and said something
over it, and then he held it
up and dropped it on the floor.
It fell pretty solid, and only
rolled about an inch. Jim tried
it again, and then another time,
and it acted just the same. Jim
got down on his knees, and put
his ear against it and listened.
But it warn't no use; he said
it wouldn't talk. He said sometimes
it wouldn't talk without money.
I told him I had an old slick
counterfeit quarter that warn't
no good because the brass showed
through the silver a little,
and it wouldn't pass nohow, even
if the brass didn't show, because
it was so slick it felt greasy,
and so that would tell on it
every time. (I reckoned I wouldn't
say nothing about the dollar
I got from the judge.) I said
it was pretty bad money, but
maybe the hair-ball would take
it, because maybe it wouldn't
know the difference. Jim smelt
it and bit it and rubbed it,
and said he would manage so the
hair-ball would think it was
good. He said he would split
open a raw Irish potato and stick
the quarter in between and keep
it there all night, and next
morning you couldn't see no brass,
and it wouldn't feel greasy no
more, and so anybody in town
would take it in a minute, let
alone a hair-ball. Well, I knowed
a potato would do that before,
but I had forgot it.
Jim put the quarter under the
hair-ball, and got down and listened
again. This time he said the
hairball was all right. He said
it would tell my whole fortune
if I wanted it to. I says, go
on. So the hairball talked to
Jim, and Jim told it to me. He
says:
"Yo' ole father
doan' know yit what he's a-gwyne
to do.
Sometimes he spec he'll go 'way,
en den agin he spec he'll stay.
De bes' way is to res' easy en
let de ole man take his own way.
Dey's two angels hoverin' roun'
'bout him. One uv 'em is white
en shiny, en t'other one is black.
De white one gits him to go right
a little while, den de black
one sail in en bust it all up.
A body can't tell yit which one
gwyne to fetch him at de las'.
But you is all right. You gwyne
to have considable trouble in
yo' life, en considable joy.
Sometimes you gwyne to git hurt,
en sometimes you gwyne to git
sick; but every time you's gwyne
to git well agin. Dey's two gals
flyin' 'bout you in yo' life.
One uv 'em's light en t'other
one is dark. One is rich en t'other
is po'. You's gwyne to marry
de po' one fust en de rich one
by en by. You wants to keep 'way
fum de water as much as you kin,
en don't run no resk, 'kase it's
down in de bills dat you's gwyne
to git hung."
When I lit my candle and went
up to my room that night there
sat pap -- his own self! |