WELL, I got a good going-over
in the morning from old Miss
Watson on account of my clothes;
but the widow she didn't scold,
but only cleaned off the grease
and clay, and looked so sorry
that I thought I would behave
awhile if I could. Then Miss
Watson she took me in the closet
and prayed, but nothing come
of it. She told me to pray every
day, and whatever I asked for
I would get it. But it warn't
so. I tried it. Once I got a
fish-line, but no hooks. It warn't
any good to me without hooks.
I tried for the hooks three or
four times, but somehow I couldn't
make it work. By and by, one
day, I asked Miss Watson to try
for me, but she said I was a
fool. She never told me why,
and I couldn't make it out no
way.
I set down
one time back in the woods,
and had a long think
about it. I says to myself, if
a body can get anything they
pray for, why don't Deacon Winn
get back the money he lost on
pork? Why can't the widow get
back her silver snuffbox that
was stole? Why can't Miss Watson
fat up? No, says I to my self,
there ain't nothing in it. I
went and told the widow about
it, and she said the thing a
body could get by praying for
it was "spiritual gifts." This
was too many for me, but she
told me what she meant -- I must
help other people, and do everything
I could for other people, and
look out for them all the time,
and never think about myself.
This was including Miss Watson,
as I took it. I went out in the
woods and turned it over in my
mind a long time, but I couldn't
see no advantage about it --
except for the other people;
so at last I reckoned I wouldn't
worry about it any more, but
just let it go. Sometimes the
widow would take me one side
and talk about Providence in
a way to make a body's mouth
water; but maybe next day Miss
Watson would take hold and knock
it all down again. I judged I
could see that there was two
Providences, and a poor chap
would stand considerable show
with the widow's Providence,
but if Miss Watson's got him
there warn't no help for him
any more. I thought it all out,
and reckoned I would belong to
the widow's if he wanted me,
though I couldn't make out how
he was a-going to be any better
off then than what he was before,
seeing I was so ignorant, and
so kind of low-down and ornery.
Pap he hadn't been seen for
more than a year, and that was
comfortable for me; I didn't
want to see him no more. He used
to always whale me when he was
sober and could get his hands
on me; though I used to take
to the woods most of the time
when he was around. Well, about
this time he was found in the
river drownded, about twelve
mile above town, so people said.
They judged it was him, anyway;
said this drownded man was just
his size, and was ragged, and
had uncommon long hair, which
was all like pap; but they couldn't
make nothing out of the face,
because it had been in the water
so long it warn't much like a
face at all. They said he was
floating on his back in the water.
They took him and buried him
on the bank. But I warn't comfortable
long, because I happened to think
of something. I knowed mighty
well that a drownded man don't
float on his back, but on his
face. So I knowed, then, that
this warn't pap, but a woman
dressed up in a man's clothes.
So I was uncomfortable again.
I judged the old man would turn
up again by and by, though I
wished he wouldn't.
We played robber
now and then about a month,
and then I resigned.
All the boys did. We hadn't robbed
nobody, hadn't killed any people,
but only just pretended. We used
to hop out of the woods and go
charging down on hog-drivers
and women in carts taking garden
stuff to market, but we never
hived any of them. Tom Sawyer
called the hogs "ingots," and
he called the turnips and stuff "julery," and
we would go to the cave and powwow
over what we had done, and how
many people we had killed and
marked. But I couldn't see no
profit in it. One time Tom sent
a boy to run about town with
a blazing stick, which he called
a slogan (which was the sign
for the Gang to get together),
and then he said he had got secret
news by his spies that next day
a whole parcel of Spanish merchants
and rich A-rabs was going to
camp in Cave Hollow with two
hundred elephants, and six hundred
camels, and over a thousand "sumter" mules,
all loaded down with di'monds,
and they didn't have only a guard
of four hundred soldiers, and
so we would lay in ambuscade,
as he called it, and kill the
lot and scoop the things. He
said we must slick up our swords
and guns, and get ready. He never
could go after even a turnip-cart
but he must have the swords and
guns all scoured up for it, though
they was only lath and broomsticks,
and you might scour at them till
you rotted, and then they warn't
worth a mouthful of ashes more
than what they was before. I
didn't believe we could lick
such a crowd of Spaniards and
A-rabs, but I wanted to see the
camels and elephants, so I was
on hand next day, Saturday, in
the ambuscade; and when we got
the word we rushed out of the
woods and down the hill. But
there warn't no Spaniards and
A-rabs, and there warn't no camels
nor no elephants. It warn't anything
but a Sunday-school picnic, and
only a primer-class at that.
We busted it up, and chased the
children up the hollow; but we
never got anything but some doughnuts
and jam, though Ben Rogers got
a rag doll, and Jo Harper got
a hymn-book and a tract; and
then the teacher charged in,
and made us drop everything and
cut. I didn't see no di'monds,
and I told Tom Sawyer so. He
said there was loads of them
there, anyway; and he said there
was A-rabs there, too, and elephants
and things. I said, why couldn't
we see them, then? He said if
I warn't so ignorant, but had
read a book called Don Quixote,
I would know without asking.
He said it was all done by enchantment.
He said there was hundreds of
soldiers there, and elephants
and treasure, and so on, but
we had enemies which he called
magicians; and they had turned
the whole thing into an infant
Sundayschool, just out of spite.
I said, all right; then the thing
for us to do was to go for the
magicians. Tom Sawyer said I
was a numskull.
"Why," said he, "a
magician could call up a lot
of genies,
and they would hash you up like
nothing before you could say
Jack Robinson. They are as tall
as a tree and as big around as
a church."
"Well," I says, "s'pose
we got some genies to help
US --
can't we lick the other crowd
then?"
"How you going
to get them?"
"I don't know.
How do THEY get them?"
"Why, they
rub an old tin lamp or an iron
ring, and then the
genies come tearing in, with
the thunder and lightning a-ripping
around and the smoke a-rolling,
and everything they're told to
do they up and do it. They don't
think nothing of pulling a shot-tower
up by the roots, and belting
a Sunday-school superintendent
over the head with it -- or any
other man."
"Who makes
them tear around so?"
"Why, whoever
rubs the lamp or the ring.
They belong to whoever
rubs the lamp or the ring, and
they've got to do whatever he
says. If he tells them to build
a palace forty miles long out
of di'monds, and fill it full
of chewing-gum, or whatever you
want, and fetch an emperor's
daughter from China for you to
marry, they've got to do it --
and they've got to do it before
sun-up next morning, too. And
more: they've got to waltz that
palace around over the country
wherever you want it, you understand."
"Well," says I, "I
think they are a pack of flatheads
for not
keeping the palace themselves
'stead of fooling them away like
that. And what's more -- if I
was one of them I would see a
man in Jericho before I would
drop my business and come to
him for the rubbing of an old
tin lamp."
"How you talk,
Huck Finn. Why, you'd HAVE
to come when he rubbed
it, whether you wanted to or
not."
"What! and
I as high as a tree and as
big as a church? All right,
then; I WOULD come; but I lay
I'd make that man climb the highest
tree there was in the country."
"Shucks, it
ain't no use to talk to you,
Huck Finn. You don't
seem to know anything, somehow
-- perfect saphead."
I thought all this over for
two or three days, and then I
reckoned I would see if there
was anything in it. I got an
old tin lamp and an iron ring,
and went out in the woods and
rubbed and rubbed till I sweat
like an Injun, calculating to
build a palace and sell it; but
it warn't no use, none of the
genies come. So then I judged
that all that stuff was only
just one of Tom Sawyer's lies.
I reckoned he believed in the
A-rabs and the elephants, but
as for me I think different.
It had all the marks of a Sunday-school. |