CHAPTER XXIIII
Well, all day him and the king was hard at it, rigging up a stage anda curtain and a row of candles for footlights; and that night thehouse was jam full of men in no time. When the place couldn't hold nomore, the duke he quit tending door and went around the back way andcome onto the stage and stood up before the curtain and made a littlespeech, and praised up this tragedy, and said it was the mostthrillingest one that ever was; and so he went on a-bragging about thetragedy, and about Edmund Kean the Elder, which was to play the mainprincipal part in it; and at last when he'd got everybody'sexpectations up high enough, he rolled up the curtain, and the nextminute the king come a-prancing out on all fours, naked; and he waspainted all over, ring-streaked-and-striped, all sorts of colors, assplendid as a rainbow. And--but never mind the rest of his outfit; itwas just wild, but it was awful funny. The people most killedthemselves laughing; and when the king got done capering and caperedoff behind the scenes, they roared and clapped and stormed andhaw-hawed till he come back and done it over again, and after thatthey made him do it another time. Well, it would make a cow laugh tosee the shines that old idiot cut.
Then the duke he lets the curtain down, and bows to the people, andsays the great tragedy will be performed only two nights more, onaccounts of pressing London engagements, where the seats is all soldalready for it in Drury Lane; and then he makes them another bow, andsays if he has succeeded in pleasing them and instructing them, hewill be deeply obleeged if they will mention it to their friends andget them to come and see it.
Twenty people sings out:
"What, is it over? Is that _all_?"
The duke says yes. Then there was a fine time. Everybody sings out,"Sold!" and rose up mad, and was a-going for that stage and themtragedians. But a big, fine-looking man jumps up on a bench andshouts:
"Hold on! Just a word, gentlemen." They stopped to listen. "We aresold--mighty badly sold. But we don't want to be the laughing-stock ofthis whole town, I reckon, and never hear the last of this thing aslong as we live. _No_. What we want is to go out of here quiet, andtalk this show up, and sell the _rest_ of the town! Then we'll all bein the same boat. Ain't that sensible?" ("You bet it is!--the jedge isright!" everybody sings out.) "All right, then--not a word about anysell. Go along home, and advise everybody to come and see thetragedy."
Next day you couldn't hear nothing around that town but how splendidthat show was. House was jammed again that night, and we sold thiscrowd the same way. When me and the king and the duke got home to theraft we all had a supper; and by and by, about midnight, they made Jimand me back her out and float her down the middle of the river, andfetch her in and hide her about two mile below town.
The third night the house was crammed again--and they warn'tnew-comers this time, but people that was at the show the other twonights. I stood by the duke at the door, and I see that every man thatwent in had his pockets bulging, or something muffled up under hiscoat--and I see it warn't no perfumery, neither, not by a long sight.I smelt sickly eggs by the barrel, and rotten cabbages, and suchthings; and if I know the signs of a dead cat being around, and I betI do, there was sixty-four of them went in. I shoved in there for aminute, but it was too various for me; I couldn't stand it. Well, whenthe place couldn't hold no more people the duke he give a fellow aquarter and told him to tend door for him a minute, and then hestarted around for the stage door, I after him; but the minute weturned the corner and was in the dark he says:
"Walk fast now till you get away from the houses, and then shin forthe raft like the dickens was after you!"
I done it, and he done the same. We struck the raft at the same time,and in less than two seconds we was gliding down-stream, all dark andstill, and edging towards the middle of the river, nobody saying aword. I reckoned the poor king was in for a gaudy time of it with theaudience, but nothing of the sort; pretty soon he crawls out fromunder the wigwam, and says:
"Well, how'd the old thing pan out this time, duke?" He hadn't beenup-town at all.
We never showed a light till we was about ten mile below the village.Then we lit up and had a supper, and the king and the duke fairlylaughed their bones loose over the way they'd served them people. Theduke says:
"Greenhorns, flatheads! I knew the first house would keep mum and letthe rest of the town get roped in; and I knew they'd lay for us thethird night, and consider it was _their_ turn now. Well, it _is_ theirturn, and I'd give something to know how much they'd take for it. I_would_ just like to know how they're putting in their opportunity.They can turn it into a picnic if they want to--they brought plentyprovisions."
Them rapscallions took in four hundred and sixty-five dollars in thatthree nights. I never see money hauled in by the wagon-load like thatbefore.
By and by, when they was asleep and snoring, Jim says:
"Don't it s'prise you de way dem kings carries on, Huck?"
"No," I says, "it don't."
"Why don't it, Huck?"
"Well, it don't, because it's in the breed. I reckon they're allalike."
"But, Huck, dese kings o' ourn is reglar rapscallions; dat's jist whatdey is; dey's reglar rapscallions."
"Well, that's what I'm a-saying; all kings is mostly rapscallions, asfur as I can make out."
"Is dat so?"
"You read about them once--you'll see. Look at Henry the Eight; this'n' 's a Sunday-school Superintendent to _him_. And look at CharlesSecond, and Louis Fourteen, and Louis Fifteen, and James Second, andEdward Second, and Richard Third, and forty more; besides all themSaxon heptarchies that used to rip around so in old times and raiseCain. My, you ought to seen old Henry the Eight when he was in bloom.He _was_ a blossom. He used to marry a new wife every day, and chopoff her head next morning. And he would do it just as indifferent asif he was ordering up eggs. 'Fetch up Nell Gwynn,' he says. They fetchher up. Next morning, 'Chop off her head!' And they chop it off.'Fetch up Jane Shore,' he says; and up she comes. Next morning, 'Chopoff her head'--and they chop it off. 'Ring up Fair Rosamun.' FairRosamun answers the bell. Next morning, 'Chop off her head.' And hemade every one of them tell him a tale every night; and he kept thatup till he had hogged a thousand and one tales that way, and then heput them all in a book, and called it Domesday Book--which was a goodname and stated the case. You don't know kings, Jim, but I know them;and this old rip of ourn is one of the cleanest I've struck inhistory. Well, Henry he takes a notion he wants to get up some troublewith this country. How does he go at it--give notice?--give thecountry a show? No. All of a sudden he heaves all the tea in BostonHarbor overboard, and whacks out a declaration of independence, anddares them to come on. That was _his_ style--he never give anybody achance. He had suspicions of his father, the Duke of Wellington. Well,what did he do? Ask him to show up? No--drownded him in a butt ofmamsey, like a cat. S'pose people left money laying around where hewas--what did he do? He collared it. S'pose he contracted to do athing, and you paid him, and didn't set down there and see that hedone it--what did he do? He always done the other thing. S'pose heopened his mouth--what then? If he didn't shut it up powerful quickhe'd lose a lie every time. That's the kind of a bug Henry was; and ifwe'd 'a' had him along 'stead of our kings he'd 'a' fooled that town aheap worse than ourn done. I don't say that ourn is lambs, becausethey ain't, when you come right down to the cold facts; but they ain'tnothing to _that_ old ram, anyway. All I say is, kings is kings, andyou got to make allowances. Take them all around, they're a mightyornery lot. It's the way they're raised."
"But dis one do _smell_ so like de nation, Huck."
"Well, they all do, Jim. We can't help the way a king smells; historydon't tell no way."
"Now de duke, he's a tolerble likely man in some ways."
"Yes, a duke's different. But not very different. This one's amiddling hard lot for a duke. When he's drunk there ain't nonear-sighted man could tell him from a king."
"Well, anyways, I doan' hanker for no mo' un um, Huck. Dese is all Ikin stan'."
"It's the way
I feel, too, Jim. But we've got them on our hands, andwe got to remember what they are, and make allowances. Sometimes Iwish we could hear of a country that's out of kings."
What was the use to tell Jim these warn't real kings and dukes? Itwouldn't 'a' done no good; and, besides, it was just as I said: youcouldn't tell them from the real kind.
I went to sleep, and Jim didn't call me when it was my turn. He oftendone that. When I waked up just at daybreak he was sitting there withhis head down betwixt his knees, moaning and mourning to himself. Ididn't take notice nor let on. I knowed what it was about. He wasthinking about his wife and his children, away up yonder, and he waslow and homesick; because he hadn't ever been away from home before inhis life; and I do believe he cared just as much for his people aswhite folks does for their'n. It don't seem natural, but I reckon it'sso. He was often moaning and mourning that way nights, when he judgedI was asleep, and saying, "Po' little 'Lizabeth! po' little Johnny!it's mighty hard; I spec' I ain't ever gwyne to see you no mo', nomo'!" He was a mighty good nigger, Jim was.
But this time I somehow got to talking to him about his wife and youngones; and by and by he says:
"What makes me feel so bad dis time 'uz bekase I hear sumpn overyonder on de bank like a whack, er a slam, while ago, en it mine me erde time I treat my little 'Lizabeth so ornery. She warn't on'y 'boutfo' year ole, en she tuck de sk'yarlet fever, en had a powful roughspell; but she got well, en one day she was a-stannin' aroun', en Isays to her, I says:
"'Shet de do'.'
"She never done it; jis' stood dah, kiner smilin' up at me. It make memad; en I says ag'in, mighty loud, I says:
"'Doan' you hear me? Shet de do'!"
"She jis stood de same way, kiner smilin' up. I was a-bilin'! I says:
"'I lay I _make_ you mine!'
"En wid dat I fetch' her a slap side de head dat sont her a-sprawlin'.Den I went into de yuther room, en 'uz gone 'bout ten minutes; en whenI come back dah was dat do' a-stannin' open _yit_, en dat chilestannin' mos' right in it, a-lookin' down and mournin', en de tearsrunnin' down. My, but I _wuz_ mad! I was a-gwyne for de chile, butjis' den--it was a do' dat open innerds--jis' den, 'long come de winden slam it to, behine de chile, ker-_blam!_--en my lan', de chilenever move'! My breff mos' hop outer me; en I feel so--so--I doan'know _how_ I feel. I crope out, all a-tremblin', en crope aroun' enopen de do' easy en slow, en poke my head in behine de chile, sof' enstill, en all uv a sudden I says _pow!_ jis' as loud as I could yell.She _never budge!_ Oh, Huck, I bust out a-cryin' en grab her up in myarms, en say, 'Oh, de po' little thing! De Lord God Amighty fogive po'ole Jim, kaze he never gwyne to fogive hisself as long's he live!' Oh,she was plumb deef en dumb, Huck, plumb deef en dumb--en I'd bena-treat'n her so!"