CHAPTER XXXIV
HUCK said: "Tom, we can slope, if we can find a rope. The window ain'thigh from the ground."
"Shucks! what do you want to slope for?"
"Well, I ain't used to that kind of a crowd. I can't stand it. I ain'tgoing down there, Tom."
"Oh, bother! It ain't anything. I don't mind it a bit. I'll take careof you."
Sid appeared.
"Tom," said he, "auntie has been waiting for you all the afternoon.Mary got your Sunday clothes ready, and everybody's been fretting aboutyou. Say--ain't this grease and clay, on your clothes?"
"Now, Mr. Siddy, you jist 'tend to your own business. What's all thisblow-out about, anyway?"
"It's one of the widow's parties that she's always having. This timeit's for the Welshman and his sons, on account of that scrape theyhelped her out of the other night. And say--I can tell you something,if you want to know."
"Well, what?"
"Why, old Mr. Jones is going to try to spring something on the peoplehere to-night, but I overheard him tell auntie to-day about it, as asecret, but I reckon it's not much of a secret now. Everybody knows--the widow, too, for all she tries to let on she don't. Mr. Jones wasbound Huck should be here--couldn't get along with his grand secretwithout Huck, you know!"
"Secret about what, Sid?"
"About Huck tracking the robbers to the widow's. I reckon Mr. Joneswas going to make a grand time over his surprise, but I bet you it willdrop pretty flat."
Sid chuckled in a very contented and satisfied way.
"Sid, was it you that told?"
"Oh, never mind who it was. SOMEBODY told--that's enough."
"Sid, there's only one person in this town mean enough to do that, andthat's you. If you had been in Huck's place you'd 'a' sneaked down thehill and never told anybody on the robbers. You can't do any but meanthings, and you can't bear to see anybody praised for doing good ones.There--no thanks, as the widow says"--and Tom cuffed Sid's ears andhelped him to the door with several kicks. "Now go and tell auntie ifyou dare--and to-morrow you'll catch it!"
Some minutes later the widow's guests were at the supper-table, and adozen children were propped up at little side-tables in the same room,after the fashion of that country and that day. At the proper time Mr.Jones made his little speech, in which he thanked the widow for thehonor she was doing himself and his sons, but said that there wasanother person whose modesty--
And so forth and so on. He sprung his secret about Huck's share in theadventure in the finest dramatic manner he was master of, but thesurprise it occasioned was largely counterfeit and not as clamorous andeffusive as it might have been under happier circumstances. However,the widow made a pretty fair show of astonishment, and heaped so manycompliments and so much gratitude upon Huck that he almost forgot thenearly intolerable discomfort of his new clothes in the entirelyintolerable discomfort of being set up as a target for everybody's gazeand everybody's laudations.
The widow said she meant to give Huck a home under her roof and havehim educated; and that when she could spare the money she would starthim in business in a modest way. Tom's chance was come. He said:
"Huck don't need it. Huck's rich."
Nothing but a heavy strain upon the good manners of the company keptback the due and proper complimentary laugh at this pleasant joke. Butthe silence was a little awkward. Tom broke it:
"Huck's got money. Maybe you don't believe it, but he's got lots ofit. Oh, you needn't smile--I reckon I can show you. You just wait aminute."
Tom ran out of doors. The company looked at each other with aperplexed interest--and inquiringly at Huck, who was tongue-tied.
"Sid, what ails Tom?" said Aunt Polly. "He--well, there ain't ever anymaking of that boy out. I never--"
Tom entered, struggling with the weight of his sacks, and Aunt Pollydid not finish her sentence. Tom poured the mass of yellow coin uponthe table and said:
"There--what did I tell you? Half of it's Huck's and half of it's mine!"
The spectacle took the general breath away. All gazed, nobody spokefor a moment. Then there was a unanimous call for an explanation. Tomsaid he could furnish it, and he did. The tale was long, but brimful ofinterest. There was scarcely an interruption from any one to break thecharm of its flow. When he had finished, Mr. Jones said:
"I thought I had fixed up a little surprise for this occasion, but itdon't amount to anything now. This one makes it sing mighty small, I'mwilling to allow."
The money was counted. The sum amounted to a little over twelvethousand dollars. It was more than any one present had ever seen at onetime before, though several persons were there who were worthconsiderably more than that in property.
CHAPTER XXXV
THE reader may rest satisfied that Tom's and Huck's windfall made amighty stir in the poor little village of St. Petersburg. So vast asum, all in actual cash, seemed next to incredible. It was talkedabout, gloated over, glorified, until the reason of many of thecitizens tottered under the strain of the unhealthy excitement. Every"haunted" house in St. Petersburg and the neighboring villages wasdissected, plank by plank, and its foundations dug up and ransacked forhidden treasure--and not by boys, but men--pretty grave, unromanticmen, too, some of them. Wherever Tom and Huck appeared they werecourted, admired, stared at. The boys were not able to remember thattheir remarks had possessed weight before; but now their sayings weretreasured and repeated; everything they did seemed somehow to beregarded as remarkable; they had evidently lost the power of doing andsaying commonplace things; moreover, their past history was raked upand discovered to bear marks of conspicuous originality. The villagepaper published biographical sketches of the boys.
The Widow Douglas put Huck's money out at six per cent., and JudgeThatcher did the same with Tom's at Aunt Polly's request. Each lad hadan income, now, that was simply prodigious--a dollar for every week-dayin the year and half of the Sundays. It was just what the minister got--no, it was what he was promised--he generally couldn't collect it. Adollar and a quarter a week would board, lodge, and school a boy inthose old simple days--and clothe him and wash him, too, for thatmatter.
Judge Thatcher had conceived a great opinion of Tom. He said that nocommonplace boy would ever have got his daughter out of the cave. WhenBecky told her father, in strict confidence, how Tom had taken herwhipping at school, the Judge was visibly moved; and when she pleadedgrace for the mighty lie which Tom had told in order to shift thatwhipping from her shoulders to his own, the Judge said with a fineoutburst that it was a noble, a generous, a magnanimous lie--a lie thatwas worthy to hold up its head and march down through history breast tobreast with George Washington's lauded Truth about the hatchet! Beckythought her father had never looked so tall and so superb as when hewalked the floor and stamped his foot and said that. She went straightoff and told Tom about it.
Judge Thatcher hoped to see Tom a great lawyer or a great soldier someday. He said he meant to look to it that Tom should be admitted to theNational Military Academy and afterward trained in the best law schoolin the country, in order that he might be ready for either career orboth.
Huck Finn's wealth and the fact that he was now under the WidowDouglas' protection introduced him into society--no, dragged him intoit, hurled him into it--and his sufferings were almost more than hecould bear. The widow's servants kept him clean and neat, combed andbrushed, and they bedded him nightly in unsympathetic sheets that hadnot one little spot or stain which he could press to his heart and knowfor a friend. He had to eat with a knife and fork; he had to usenapkin, cup, and plate; he had to learn his book, he had to go tochurch; he had to talk so properly that speech was become insipid inhis mouth; whithersoever he turned, the bars and shackles ofcivilization shut him in and bound him hand and foot.
He bravely bore his miseries three weeks, and then one day turned upmissing. For forty-eight hours the widow hunted for him everywhere ingreat distress. The public were profoundly concerned; they searchedhigh and low, they dragged the river for hi
s body. Early the thirdmorning Tom Sawyer wisely went poking among some old empty hogsheadsdown behind the abandoned slaughter-house, and in one of them he foundthe refugee. Huck had slept there; he had just breakfasted upon somestolen odds and ends of food, and was lying off, now, in comfort, withhis pipe. He was unkempt, uncombed, and clad in the same old ruin ofrags that had made him picturesque in the days when he was free andhappy. Tom routed him out, told him the trouble he had been causing,and urged him to go home. Huck's face lost its tranquil content, andtook a melancholy cast. He said:
"Don't talk about it, Tom. I've tried it, and it don't work; it