Huckleberry finn by Mark Twain

for, young man?"

with them bags. Jump out and he'p the gentleman, Adolphus"--meaning 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 he'd 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:

come mighty near getting here in time.' But then I says again, 'No, I

reckon it ain't him, or else he wouldn't be paddling up the river.' You

AIN'T him, are you?"

I s'pose I must say, as I'm one o' the Lord's poor servants. But still

I'm jist as able to be sorry for Mr. Wilks for not arriving in time, all

the same, if he's missed anything by it--which I hope he hasn't."

right; but he's missed seeing his brother Peter die--which he mayn't

mind, nobody can tell as to that--but his brother would a give anything

in this world to see HIM before he died; never talked about nothing else

all these three weeks; hadn't seen him since they was boys together--and

hadn't ever seen his brother William at all--that's the deef and dumb

one--William ain't 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 William's the only ones

that's left now; and, as I was saying, they haven't got here in time."

said then that he sorter felt like he warn't going to get well this time.

You see, he was pretty old, and George's g'yirls 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 didn't seem to care

much to live. He most desperately wanted to see Harvey--and William,

too, for that matter--because he was one of them kind that can't bear to

make a will. He left a letter behind for Harvey, and said he'd told in

it where his money was hid, and how he wanted the rest of the property

divided up so George's g'yirls would be all right--for George didn't

leave nothing. And that letter was all they could get him to put a pen

to."
"Why do you reckon Harvey don't come? Wher' does he live?"

this country. He hasn't had any too much time--and besides he mightn't a

got the letter at all, you know."
"Too bad, too bad he couldn't a lived to see his brothers, poor soul.

You going to Orleans, you say?"

Wednesday, for Ryo Janeero, where my uncle lives."

Is Mary Jane the oldest? How old is the others?"

--that's the one that gives herself to good works and has a hare-lip."

"Poor things! to be left alone in the cold world so."
"Well, they could be worse off. Old Peter had friends, and they ain't

going to let them come to no harm. There's Hobson, the Babtis' 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, and--well, there's 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 'll know where to look for friends when he gets here."
Well, the old man went on asking questions till he just fairly emptied

that young fellow. Blamed if he didn't inquire about everybody and

everything in that blessed town, and all about the Wilkses; and about

Peter's business--which was a tanner; and about George's--which was a

carpenter; and about Harvey's--which was a dissentering minister; and so

on, and so on. Then he says:

there. When they're deep they won't stop for a hail. A Cincinnati boat

will, but this is a St. Louis one."
"Was Peter Wilks well off?"
"Oh, yes, pretty well off. He had houses and land, and it's reckoned he

left three or four thousand in cash hid up som'ers."

another. So what we want to do is to be prepared; then we're all right."

got off. The king never said nothing about going aboard, so I lost my

ride, after all. When the boat was gone the king made me paddle up

another mile to a lonesome place, and then he got ashore and says:

carpet-bags. And if he's gone over to t'other side, go over there and

git him. And tell him to git himself up regardless. Shove along, now."
I see what HE was up to; but I never said nothing, of course. When I got

back with the duke we hid the canoe, and then they set down on a log, and

the king told him everything, just like the young fellow had said it

--every last word of it. And all the time he was a-doing it he tried to

talk like an Englishman; and he done it pretty well, too, for a slouch.

I can't imitate him, and so I ain't a-going to try to; but he really done

it pretty good. Then he says:
"How are you on the deef and dumb, Bilgewater?"
The duke said, leave him alone for that; said he had played a deef and

dumb person on the histronic boards. So then they waited for a

steamboat.
About the middle of the afternoon a couple of little boats come along,

but they didn't come from high enough up the river; but at last there was

a big one, and they hailed her. She sent out her yawl, and we went

aboard, and she was from Cincinnati; and when they found we only wanted

to go four or five mile they was booming mad, and gave us a cussing, and

said they wouldn't land us. But the king was ca'm. He says:

put off in a yawl, a steamboat kin afford to carry 'em, can't it?"

village they yawled us ashore. About two dozen men flocked down when

they see the yawl a-coming, and when the king says:
"Kin any of you gentlemen tell me wher' Mr. Peter Wilks lives?" they give

a glance at one another, and nodded their heads, as much as to say, "What

d' I tell you?" Then one of them says, kind of soft and gentle:
"I'm sorry sir, but the best we can do is to tell you where he DID live

yesterday evening."

against the man, and put his chin on his shoulder, and cried down his

back, and says:
"Alas, alas, our poor brother--gone, and we never got to see him; oh,

it's too, too hard!"

duke on his hands, and blamed if he didn't drop a carpet-bag and bust out

a-crying. If they warn't the beatenest lot, them two frauds, that ever I

struck.
Well, the men gathered around and sympathized with them, and said all

sorts of kind things to them, and carried their carpet-bags up the hill

for them, and let them lean on them and cry, and told the king all about

his brother's last moments, and the king he told it all over again on his

hands to the duke, and both of them took on about that dead tanner like

they'd lost the twelve disciples. Well, if ever I struck anything like

it, I'm a nigger. It was enough to make a body ashamed of the human race.

CHAPTER XXV.
THE news was all over town in two minutes, and you could see the people

tearing down on the run from every which way, some of them putting on

their coats as they come. Pretty soon we was in the middle of a crowd,

and the noise of the tramping was like a soldier march. The windows and

dooryards was full; and every minute somebody would say, over a fence:
"Is it THEM?"
And somebody trotting along with the gang would answer back and say:
"You bet it is."
When we got to the house the street in front of it was packed, and the

three girls was standing in the door. Mary Jane WAS red-headed, but that

don't make no difference, she was most awful beautiful, and her face and

her eyes was all lit up like glory, she was so glad her uncles was come.

The king he spread his arms, and Mary Jane she jumped for them, and the

hare-lip jumped for the duke, and there they HAD it! Everybody most,

leastways women, cried for joy to see them meet again at last and have

such good times.

looked around and see the coffin, over in the corner on two chairs; so

then him and the duke, with a hand across each other's shoulder, and

t'other hand to their eyes, walked slow and solemn over there, everybody

dropping back to give them room, and all the talk and noise stopping,

people saying "Sh!" and all the men taking their hats off and drooping

their heads, so you could a heard a pin fall. And when they got there

they bent over and looked in the coffin, and took one sight, and then

they bust out a-crying so you could a heard them to Orleans, most; and

then they put their arms around each other's necks, and hung their chins

over each other's shoulders; and then for three minutes, or maybe four, I

never see two men leak the way they done. And, mind you, everybody was

doing the same; and the place was that damp I never see anything like it.

Then one of them got on one side of the coffin, and t'other on t'other

side, and they kneeled down and rested their foreheads on the coffin, and

let on to pray all to themselves. Well, when it come to that it worked

the crowd like you never see anything like it, and everybody broke down

and went to sobbing right out loud--the poor girls, too; and every woman,

nearly, went up to the girls, without saying a word, and kissed them,

solemn, on the forehead, and then put their hand on their head, and

looked up towards the sky, with the tears running down, and then busted

out and went off sobbing and swabbing, and give the next woman a show. I

never see anything so disgusting.
Well, by and by the king he gets up and comes forward a little, and works

himself up and slobbers out a speech, all full of tears and flapdoodle

about its being a sore trial for him and his poor brother to lose the

diseased, and to miss seeing diseased alive after the long journey of

four thousand mile, but it's a trial that's sweetened and sanctified to

us by this dear sympathy and these holy tears, and so he thanks them out

of his heart and out of his brother's heart, because out of their mouths

they can't, words being too weak and cold, and all that kind of rot and

slush, till it was just sickening; and then he blubbers out a pious

goody-goody Amen, and turns himself loose and goes to crying fit to bust.

struck up the doxolojer, and everybody joined in with all their might,

and it just warmed you up and made you feel as good as church letting

out. Music is a good thing; and after all that soul-butter and hogwash I

never see it freshen up things so, and sound so honest and bully.
Then the king begins to work his jaw again, and says how him and his

nieces would be glad if a few of the main principal friends of the family

would take supper here with them this evening, and help set up with the

ashes of the diseased; and says if his poor brother laying yonder could

speak he knows who he would name, for they was names that was very dear

to him, and mentioned often in his letters; and so he will name the same,

to wit, as follows, vizz.:--Rev. Mr. Hobson, and Deacon Lot Hovey, and

Mr. Ben Rucker, and Abner Shackleford, and Levi Bell, and Dr. Robinson,

and their wives, and the widow Bartley.
Rev. Hobson and Dr. Robinson was down to the end of the town a-hunting

together--that is, I mean the doctor was shipping a sick man to t'other

world, and the preacher was pinting him right. Lawyer Bell was away up

to Louisville on business. But the rest was on hand, and so they all

come and shook hands with the king and thanked him and talked to him; and

then they shook hands with the duke and didn't say nothing, but just kept

a-smiling and bobbing their heads like a passel of sapheads whilst he

made all sorts of signs with his hands and said "Goo-goo--goo-goo-goo"

all the time, like a baby that can't talk.
So the king he blattered along, and managed to inquire about pretty much

everybody and dog in town, by his name, and mentioned all sorts of little

things that happened one time or another in the town, or to George's

family, or to Peter. And he always let on that Peter wrote him the

things; but that was a lie: he got every blessed one of them out of that

young flathead that we canoed up to the steamboat.

king he read it out loud and cried over it. It give the dwelling-house

and three thousand dollars, gold, to the girls; and it give the tanyard

(which was doing a good business), along with some other houses and land

(worth about seven thousand), and three thousand dollars in gold to

Harvey and William, and told where the six thousand cash was hid down

cellar. So these two frauds said they'd go and fetch it up, and have

everything square and above-board; and told me to come with a candle. We

shut the cellar door behind us, and when they found the bag they spilt it

out on the floor, and it was a lovely sight, all them yaller-boys. My,

the way the king's eyes did shine! He slaps the duke on the shoulder and

says:
"Oh, THIS ain't bully nor noth'n! Oh, no, I reckon not! Why, Billy, it

beats the Nonesuch, DON'T it?"
The duke allowed it did. They pawed the yaller-boys, and sifted them

through their fingers and let them jingle down on the floor; and the king

says:
"It ain't no use talkin'; bein' brothers to a rich dead man and

representatives of furrin heirs that's got left is the line for you and

me, Bilge. Thish yer comes of trust'n to Providence. It's the best way,

in the long run. I've tried 'em all, and ther' ain't no better way."

trust; but no, they must count it. So they counts it, and it comes out

four hundred and fifteen dollars short. Says the king:
"Dern him, I wonder what he done with that four hundred and fifteen

dollars?"

duke says:

that's the way of it. The best way's to let it go, and keep still about

it. We can spare it."
"Oh, shucks, yes, we can SPARE it. I don't k'yer noth'n 'bout that--it's

the COUNT I'm thinkin' about. We want to be awful square and open and

above-board here, you know. We want to lug this h-yer money up stairs

and count it before everybody--then ther' ain't noth'n suspicious. But

when the dead man says ther's six thous'n dollars, you know, we don't

want to--"

haul out yaller-boys out of his pocket.

on you," says the king. "Blest if the old Nonesuch ain't a heppin' us

out agin," and HE begun to haul out yaller-jackets and stack them up.
It most busted them, but they made up the six thousand clean and clear.
"Say," says the duke, "I got another idea. Le's go up stairs and count

this money, and then take and GIVE IT TO THE GIRLS."

man struck. You have cert'nly got the most astonishin' head I ever see.

Oh, this is the boss dodge, ther' ain't no mistake 'bout it. Let 'em

fetch along their suspicions now if they want to--this 'll lay 'em out."

he counted it and stacked it up, three hundred dollars in a pile--twenty

elegant little piles. Everybody looked hungry at it, and licked their

chops. Then they raked it into the bag again, and I see the king begin

to swell himself up for another speech. He says:
"Friends all, my poor brother that lays yonder has done generous by them

that's left behind in the vale of sorrers. He has done generous by these

yer poor little lambs that he loved and sheltered, and that's left

fatherless and motherless. Yes, and we that knowed him knows that he

would a done MORE generous by 'em if he hadn't ben afeard o' woundin' his

dear William and me. Now, WOULDN'T he? Ther' ain't no question 'bout it

in MY mind. Well, then, what kind o' brothers would it be that 'd stand

in his way at sech a time? And what kind o' uncles would it be that 'd

rob--yes, ROB--sech poor sweet lambs as these 'at he loved so at sech a

time? If I know William--and I THINK I do--he--well, I'll jest ask him."

He turns around and begins to make a lot of signs to the duke with his

hands, and the duke he looks at him stupid and leather-headed a while;

then all of a sudden he seems to catch his meaning, and jumps for the

king, goo-gooing with all his might for joy, and hugs him about fifteen

times before he lets up. Then the king says, "I knowed it; I reckon THAT

'll convince anybody the way HE feels about it. Here, Mary Jane, Susan,

Joanner, take the money--take it ALL. It's the gift of him that lays

yonder, cold but joyful."

then such another hugging and kissing I never see yet. And everybody

crowded up with the tears in their eyes, and most shook the hands off of

them frauds, saying all the time:

again, and how good he was, and what a loss he was, and all that; and

before long a big iron-jawed man worked himself in there from outside,

and stood a-listening and looking, and not saying anything; and nobody

saying anything to him either, because the king was talking and they was

all busy listening. The king was saying--in the middle of something he'd

started in on--
"--they bein' partickler friends o' the diseased. That's why they're

invited here this evenin'; but tomorrow we want ALL to come--everybody;

for he respected everybody, he liked everybody, and so it's fitten that

his funeral orgies sh'd be public."

every little while he fetched in his funeral orgies again, till the duke

he couldn't stand it no more; so he writes on a little scrap of paper,

"OBSEQUIES, you old fool," and folds it up, and goes to goo-gooing and

reaching it over people's heads to him. The king he reads it and puts it

in his pocket, and says:

invite everybody to come to the funeral--wants me to make 'em all

welcome. But he needn't a worried--it was jest what I was at."
Then he weaves along again, perfectly ca'm, and goes to dropping in his

funeral orgies again every now and then, just like he done before. And

when he done it the third time he says:
"I say orgies, not because it's the common term, because it ain't

--obsequies bein' the common term--but because orgies is the right term.

Obsequies ain't used in England no more now--it's gone out. We say

orgies now in England. Orgies is better, because it means the thing

you're after more exact. It's a word that's made up out'n the Greek

ORGO, outside, open, abroad; and the Hebrew JEESUM, to plant, cover up;

hence inTER. So, you see, funeral orgies is an open er public funeral."
He was the WORST I ever struck. Well, the iron-jawed man he laughed

right in his face. Everybody was shocked. Everybody says, "Why,

DOCTOR!" and Abner Shackleford says:
"Why, Robinson, hain't you heard the news? This is Harvey Wilks."
The king he smiled eager, and shoved out his flapper, and says:
"Is it my poor brother's dear good friend and physician? I--"
"Keep your hands off of me!" says the doctor. "YOU talk like an

Englishman, DON'T you? It's the worst imitation I ever heard. YOU Peter

Wilks's brother! You're a fraud, that's what you are!"
Well, how they all took on! They crowded around the doctor and tried to

quiet him down, and tried to explain to him and tell him how Harvey 'd

showed in forty ways that he WAS Harvey, and knowed everybody by name,

and the names of the very dogs, and begged and BEGGED him not to hurt

Harvey's feelings and the poor girl's feelings, and all that. But it

warn't no use; he stormed right along, and said any man that pretended to

be an Englishman and couldn't imitate the lingo no better than what he

did was a fraud and a liar. The poor girls was hanging to the king and

crying; and all of a sudden the doctor ups and turns on THEM. He says:
"I was your father's friend, and I'm your friend; and I warn you as a

friend, and an honest one that wants to protect you and keep you out of

harm and trouble, to turn your backs on that scoundrel and have nothing

to do with him, the ignorant tramp, with his idiotic Greek and Hebrew, as

he calls it. He is the thinnest kind of an impostor--has come here with

a lot of empty names and facts which he picked up somewheres, and you

take them for PROOFS, and are helped to fool yourselves by these foolish