Huckleberry finn by Mark Twain

friends here, who ought to know better. Mary Jane Wilks, you know me for

your friend, and for your unselfish friend, too. Now listen to me; turn

this pitiful rascal out--I BEG you to do it. Will you?"

says:
"HERE is my answer." She hove up the bag of money and put it in the

king's hands, and says, "Take this six thousand dollars, and invest for

me and my sisters any way you want to, and don't give us no receipt for

it."
Then she put her arm around the king on one side, and Susan and the

hare-lip done the same on the other. Everybody clapped their hands and

stomped on the floor like a perfect storm, whilst the king held up his

head and smiled proud. The doctor says:

time 's coming when you're going to feel sick whenever you think of this

day." And away he went.
"All right, doctor," says the king, kinder mocking him; "we'll try and

get 'em to send for you;" which made them all laugh, and they said it was

a prime good hit.

CHAPTER XXVI.

for spare rooms, and she said she had one spare room, which would do for

Uncle William, and she'd give her own room to Uncle Harvey, which was a

little bigger, and she would turn into the room with her sisters and

sleep on a cot; and up garret was a little cubby, with a pallet in it.

The king said the cubby would do for his valley--meaning me.

but nice. She said she'd have her frocks and a lot of other traps took

out of her room if they was in Uncle Harvey's way, but he said they

warn't. The frocks was hung along the wall, and before them was a

curtain made out of calico that hung down to the floor. There was an old

hair trunk in one corner, and a guitar-box in another, and all sorts of

little knickknacks and jimcracks around, like girls brisken up a room

with. The king said it was all the more homely and more pleasanter for

these fixings, and so don't disturb them. The duke's room was pretty

small, but plenty good enough, and so was my cubby.

and I stood behind the king and the duke's chairs and waited on them, and

the niggers waited on the rest. Mary Jane she set at the head of the

table, with Susan alongside of her, and said how bad the biscuits was,

and how mean the preserves was, and how ornery and tough the fried

chickens was--and all that kind of rot, the way women always do for to

force out compliments; and the people all knowed everything was tiptop,

and said so--said "How DO you get biscuits to brown so nice?" and "Where,

for the land's sake, DID you get these amaz'n pickles?" and all that kind

of humbug talky-talk, just the way people always does at a supper, you

know.
And when it was all done me and the hare-lip had supper in the kitchen

off of the leavings, whilst the others was helping the niggers clean up

the things. The hare-lip she got to pumping me about England, and blest

if I didn't think the ice was getting mighty thin sometimes. She says:

knowed he was dead years ago, but I never let on. So when I says he goes

to our church, she says:
"What--regular?"
"Yes--regular. His pew's right over opposite ourn--on t'other side the

pulpit."
"I thought he lived in London?"

bone, so as to get time to think how to get down again. Then I says:

only in the summer time, when he comes there to take the sea baths."

sea?"
"Looky here," I says; "did you ever see any Congress-water?"

bath."
"How does he get it, then?"

in the palace at Sheffield they've got furnaces, and he wants his water

hot. They can't bile that amount of water away off there at the sea.

They haven't got no conveniences for it."

time."
When she said that I see I was out of the woods again, and so I was

comfortable and glad. Next, she says:
"Do you go to church, too?"
"Yes--regular."
"Where do you set?"
"Why, in our pew."
"WHOSE pew?"
"Why, OURN--your Uncle Harvey's."
"His'n? What does HE want with a pew?"
"Wants it to set in. What did you RECKON he wanted with it?"
"Why, I thought he'd be in the pulpit."
Rot him, I forgot he was a preacher. I see I was up a stump again, so I

played another chicken bone and got another think. Then I says:

They don't have no less than seventeen."

if I NEVER got to glory. It must take 'em a week."

another. But mainly they don't do nothing."

treated in England? Do they treat 'em better 'n we treat our niggers?"

week, and Fourth of July?"

that. Why, Hare-l--why, Joanna, they never see a holiday from year's end

to year's end; never go to the circus, nor theater, nor nigger shows, nor

nowheres."

next minute I whirled in on a kind of an explanation how a valley was

different from a common servant and HAD to go to church whether he wanted

to or not, and set with the family, on account of its being the law. But

I didn't do it pretty good, and when I got done I see she warn't

satisfied. She says:

said it. So then she looked a little better satisfied, and says:

believe the rest."

Susan behind her. "It ain't right nor kind for you to talk so to him,

and him a stranger and so far from his people. How would you like to be

treated so?"

they're hurt. I hain't done nothing to him. He's told some stretchers,

I reckon, and I said I wouldn't swallow it all; and that's every bit and

grain I DID say. I reckon he can stand a little thing like that, can't

he?"
"I don't care whether 'twas little or whether 'twas big; he's here in our

house and a stranger, and it wasn't good of you to say it. If you was in

his place it would make you feel ashamed; and so you oughtn't to say a

thing to another person that will make THEM feel ashamed."

thing is for you to treat him KIND, and not be saying things to make him

remember he ain't in his own country and amongst his own folks."
I says to myself, THIS is a girl that I'm letting that old reptle rob her

of her money!

Hare-lip hark from the tomb!

her money!

again--which was her way; but when she got done there warn't hardly

anything left o' poor Hare-lip. So she hollered.
"All right, then," says the other girls; "you just ask his pardon."
She done it, too; and she done it beautiful. She done it so beautiful it

was good to hear; and I wished I could tell her a thousand lies, so she

could do it again.
I says to myself, this is ANOTHER one that I'm letting him rob her of her

money. And when she got through they all jest laid theirselves out to

make me feel at home and know I was amongst friends. I felt so ornery

and low down and mean that I says to myself, my mind's made up; I'll hive

that money for them or bust.
So then I lit out--for bed, I said, meaning some time or another. When I

got by myself I went to thinking the thing over. I says to myself, shall

I go to that doctor, private, and blow on these frauds? No--that won't

do. He might tell who told him; then the king and the duke would make it

warm for me. Shall I go, private, and tell Mary Jane? No--I dasn't do

it. Her face would give them a hint, sure; they've got the money, and

they'd slide right out and get away with it. If she was to fetch in help

I'd get mixed up in the business before it was done with, I judge. No;

there ain't no good way but one. I got to steal that money, somehow; and

I got to steal it some way that they won't suspicion that I done it.

They've got a good thing here, and they ain't a-going to leave till

they've played this family and this town for all they're worth, so I'll

find a chance time enough. I'll steal it and hide it; and by and by, when

I'm away down the river, I'll write a letter and tell Mary Jane where

it's hid. But I better hive it tonight if I can, because the doctor

maybe hasn't let up as much as he lets on he has; he might scare them out

of here yet.
So, thinks I, I'll go and search them rooms. Upstairs the hall was dark,

but I found the duke's room, and started to paw around it with my hands;

but I recollected it wouldn't be much like the king to let anybody else

take care of that money but his own self; so then I went to his room and

begun to paw around there. But I see I couldn't do nothing without a

candle, and I dasn't light one, of course. So I judged I'd got to do the

other thing--lay for them and eavesdrop. About that time I hears their

footsteps coming, and was going to skip under the bed; I reached for it,

but it wasn't where I thought it would be; but I touched the curtain that

hid Mary Jane's frocks, so I jumped in behind that and snuggled in

amongst the gowns, and stood there perfectly still.
They come in and shut the door; and the first thing the duke done was to

get down and look under the bed. Then I was glad I hadn't found the bed

when I wanted it. And yet, you know, it's kind of natural to hide under

the bed when you are up to anything private. They sets down then, and

the king says:
"Well, what is it? And cut it middlin' short, because it's better for us

to be down there a-whoopin' up the mournin' than up here givin' 'em a

chance to talk us over."
"Well, this is it, Capet. I ain't easy; I ain't comfortable. That

doctor lays on my mind. I wanted to know your plans. I've got a notion,

and I think it's a sound one."
"What is it, duke?"
"That we better glide out of this before three in the morning, and clip

it down the river with what we've got. Specially, seeing we got it so

easy--GIVEN back to us, flung at our heads, as you may say, when of

course we allowed to have to steal it back. I'm for knocking off and

lighting out."
That made me feel pretty bad. About an hour or two ago it would a been a

little different, but now it made me feel bad and disappointed, The king

rips out and says:
"What! And not sell out the rest o' the property? March off like a

passel of fools and leave eight or nine thous'n' dollars' worth o'

property layin' around jest sufferin' to be scooped in?--and all good,

salable stuff, too."

to go no deeper--didn't want to rob a lot of orphans of EVERYTHING they

had.
"Why, how you talk!" says the king. "We sha'n't rob 'em of nothing at

all but jest this money. The people that BUYS the property is the

suff'rers; because as soon 's it's found out 'at we didn't own it--which

won't be long after we've slid--the sale won't be valid, and it 'll all

go back to the estate. These yer orphans 'll git their house back agin,

and that's enough for THEM; they're young and spry, and k'n easy earn a

livin'. THEY ain't a-goin to suffer. Why, jest think--there's thous'n's

and thous'n's that ain't nigh so well off. Bless you, THEY ain't got

noth'n' to complain of."
Well, the king he talked him blind; so at last he give in, and said all

right, but said he believed it was blamed foolishness to stay, and that

doctor hanging over them. But the king says:
"Cuss the doctor! What do we k'yer for HIM? Hain't we got all the fools

in town on our side? And ain't that a big enough majority in any town?"

no kind to help me. The king says:

the nigger that does up the rooms will get an order to box these duds up

and put 'em away; and do you reckon a nigger can run across money and not

borrow some of it?"

under the curtain two or three foot from where I was. I stuck tight to

the wall and kept mighty still, though quivery; and I wondered what them

fellows would say to me if they catched me; and I tried to think what I'd

better do if they did catch me. But the king he got the bag before I

could think more than about a half a thought, and he never suspicioned I

was around. They took and shoved the bag through a rip in the straw tick

that was under the feather-bed, and crammed it in a foot or two amongst

the straw and said it was all right now, because a nigger only makes up

the feather-bed, and don't turn over the straw tick only about twice a

year, and so it warn't in no danger of getting stole now.
But I knowed better. I had it out of there before they was half-way down

stairs. I groped along up to my cubby, and hid it there till I could get

a chance to do better. I judged I better hide it outside of the house

somewheres, because if they missed it they would give the house a good

ransacking: I knowed that very well. Then I turned in, with my clothes

all on; but I couldn't a gone to sleep if I'd a wanted to, I was in such

a sweat to get through with the business. By and by I heard the king and

the duke come up; so I rolled off my pallet and laid with my chin at the

top of my ladder, and waited to see if anything was going to happen. But

nothing did.

begun yet; and then I slipped down the ladder.

CHAPTER XXVII.
I CREPT to their doors and listened; they was snoring. So I tiptoed

along, and got down stairs all right. There warn't a sound anywheres. I

peeped through a crack of the dining-room door, and see the men that was

watching the corpse all sound asleep on their chairs. The door was open

into the parlor, where the corpse was laying, and there was a candle in

both rooms. I passed along, and the parlor door was open; but I see there

warn't nobody in there but the remainders of Peter; so I shoved on by;

but the front door was locked, and the key wasn't there. Just then I

heard somebody coming down the stairs, back behind me. I run in the

parlor and took a swift look around, and the only place I see to hide the

bag was in the coffin. The lid was shoved along about a foot, showing

the dead man's face down in there, with a wet cloth over it, and his

shroud on. I tucked the money-bag in under the lid, just down beyond

where his hands was crossed, which made me creep, they was so cold, and

then I run back across the room and in behind the door.
The person coming was Mary Jane. She went to the coffin, very soft, and

kneeled down and looked in; then she put up her handkerchief, and I see

she begun to cry, though I couldn't hear her, and her back was to me. I

slid out, and as I passed the dining-room I thought I'd make sure them

watchers hadn't seen me; so I looked through the crack, and everything

was all right. They hadn't stirred.

playing out that way after I had took so much trouble and run so much

resk about it. Says I, if it could stay where it is, all right; because

when we get down the river a hundred mile or two I could write back to

Mary Jane, and she could dig him up again and get it; but that ain't the

thing that's going to happen; the thing that's going to happen is, the

money 'll be found when they come to screw on the lid. Then the king 'll

get it again, and it 'll be a long day before he gives anybody another

chance to smouch it from him. Of course I WANTED to slide down and get it

out of there, but I dasn't try it. Every minute it was getting earlier

now, and pretty soon some of them watchers would begin to stir, and I

might get catched--catched with six thousand dollars in my hands that

nobody hadn't hired me to take care of. I don't wish to be mixed up in

no such business as that, I says to myself.

watchers was gone. There warn't nobody around but the family and the

widow Bartley and our tribe. I watched their faces to see if anything

had been happening, but I couldn't tell.

set the coffin in the middle of the room on a couple of chairs, and then

set all our chairs in rows, and borrowed more from the neighbors till the

hall and the parlor and the dining-room was full. I see the coffin lid

was the way it was before, but I dasn't go to look in under it, with

folks around.

in the front row at the head of the coffin, and for a half an hour the

people filed around slow, in single rank, and looked down at the dead

man's face a minute, and some dropped in a tear, and it was all very

still and solemn, only the girls and the beats holding handkerchiefs to

their eyes and keeping their heads bent, and sobbing a little. There

warn't no other sound but the scraping of the feet on the floor and

blowing noses--because people always blows them more at a funeral than

they do at other places except church.
When the place was packed full the undertaker he slid around in his black

gloves with his softy soothering ways, putting on the last touches, and

getting people and things all ship-shape and comfortable, and making no

more sound than a cat. He never spoke; he moved people around, he

squeezed in late ones, he opened up passageways, and done it with nods,

and signs with his hands. Then he took his place over against the wall.

He was the softest, glidingest, stealthiest man I ever see; and there

warn't no more smile to him than there is to a ham.

young woman set down and worked it, and it was pretty skreeky and

colicky, and everybody joined in and sung, and Peter was the only one

that had a good thing, according to my notion. Then the Reverend Hobson

opened up, slow and solemn, and begun to talk; and straight off the most

outrageous row busted out in the cellar a body ever heard; it was only

one dog, but he made a most powerful racket, and he kept it up right

along; the parson he had to stand there, over the coffin, and wait--you

couldn't hear yourself think. It was right down awkward, and nobody

didn't seem to know what to do. But pretty soon they see that

long-legged undertaker make a sign to the preacher as much as to say,

"Don't you worry--just depend on me." Then he stooped down and begun to

glide along the wall, just his shoulders showing over the people's heads.

So he glided along, and the powwow and racket getting more and more

outrageous all the time; and at last, when he had gone around two sides

of the room, he disappears down cellar. Then in about two seconds we

heard a whack, and the dog he finished up with a most amazing howl or

two, and then everything was dead still, and the parson begun his solemn

talk where he left off. In a minute or two here comes this undertaker's

back and shoulders gliding along the wall again; and so he glided and

glided around three sides of the room, and then rose up, and shaded his

mouth with his hands, and stretched his neck out towards the preacher,

over the people's heads, and says, in a kind of a coarse whisper, "HE HAD

A RAT!" Then he drooped down and glided along the wall again to his

place. You could see it was a great satisfaction to the people, because

naturally they wanted to know. A little thing like that don't cost

nothing, and it's just the little things that makes a man to be looked up

to and liked. There warn't no more popular man in town than what that