Adventures of Huckleberry Finn

  CHAPTER XXIII.

  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 the housewas jam full of men in no time. ?When the place couldn't hold no more,the duke he quit tending door and went around the back way and come onto the stage and stood up before the curtain and made a little speech,and praised up this tragedy, and said it was the most thrillingest onethat ever was; and so he went on a-bragging about the tragedy, and aboutEdmund Kean the Elder, which was to play the main principal part in it;and at last when he'd got everybody's expectations up high enough, herolled up the curtain, and the next minute the king come a-prancingout on all fours, naked; and he was painted all over,ring-streaked-and-striped, all sorts of colors, as splendid as arainbow. ?And--but never mind the rest of his outfit; it was just wild,but it was awful funny. The people most killed themselves laughing; andwhen the king got done capering and capered off behind the scenes, theyroared and clapped and stormed and haw-hawed till he come back and doneit over again, and after that they made him do it another time. Well, itwould make a cow laugh to see the shines that old idiot cut.

  Then the duke he lets the curtain down, and bows to the people, and saysthe great tragedy will be performed only two nights more, on accounts ofpressing London engagements, where the seats is all sold already for itin Drury Lane; and then he makes them another bow, and says if he hassucceeded in pleasing them and instructing them, he will be deeplyobleeged if they will mention it to their friends and get them to comeand see it.

  Twenty people sings out:

  "What, is it over? ?Is that _all_?"

  The duke says yes. ?Then there was a fine time. ?Everybody singsout, "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 and shouts:

  "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 as longas we live. ?_No_. ?What we want is to go out of here quiet, and talkthis show up, and sell the _rest_ of the town! ?Then we'll all be in thesame boat. ?Ain't that sensible?" ("You bet it is!--the jedge is right!"everybody sings out.) "All right, then--not a word about any sell. ?Goalong home, and advise everybody to come and see the tragedy."

  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't new-comersthis time, but people that was at the show the other two nights. ?Istood by the duke at the door, and I see that every man that went in hadhis pockets bulging, or something muffled up under his coat--and I see itwarn't no perfumery, neither, not by a long sight. ?I smelt sickly eggsby the barrel, and rotten cabbages, and such things; and if I know thesigns of a dead cat being around, and I bet I do, there was sixty-fourof them went in. ?I shoved in there for a minute, but it was too variousfor me; I couldn't stand it. ?Well, when the place couldn't hold no morepeople the duke he give a fellow a quarter and told him to tend doorfor him a minute, and then he started around for the stage door, I afterhim; but the minute we turned the corner and was in the dark he says:

  "Walk fast now till you get away from the houses, and then shin for theraft 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 from underthe 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 Charles Second,and Louis Fourteen, and Louis Fifteen, and James Second, and EdwardSecond, and Richard Third, and forty more; besides all them Saxonheptarchies that used to rip around so in old times and raise Cain. ?My,you ought to seen old Henry the Eight when he was in bloom. ?He _was_ ablossom. ?He used to marry a new wife every day, and chop off her headnext morning. ?And he would do it just as indifferent as if he wasordering up eggs. ?'Fetch up Nell Gwynn,' he says. ?They fetch her up.Next morning, 'Chop off her head!' ?And they chop it off. ?'Fetch upJane Shore,' he says; and up she comes, Next morning, 'Chop off herhead'--and they chop it off. ?'Ring up Fair Rosamun.' ?Fair Rosamunanswers the bell. ?Next morning, 'Chop off her head.' ?And he made everyone of them tell him a tale every night; and he kept that up till he hadhogged a thousand and one tales that way, and then he put them all in abook, and called it Domesday Book--which was a good name and stated thecase. ?You don't know kings, Jim, but I know them; and this old ripof ourn is one of the cleanest I've struck in history. ?Well, Henry hetakes a notion he wants to get up some trouble with this country. Howdoes he go at it--give notice?--give the country a show? ?No. ?All of asudden he heaves all the tea in Boston Harbor overboard, and whacksout a declaration of independence, and dares them to come on. ?That was_his_ style--he never give anybody a chance. ?He had suspicions of hisfather, the Duke of Wellington. ?Well, what did he do? ?Ask him to showup? ?No--drownded him in a butt of mamsey, like a cat. ?S'pose peopleleft money laying around where he was--what did he do? ?He collared it.?S'pose he contracted to do a thing, and you paid him, and didn't setdown there and see that he done it--what did he do? ?He always done theother thing. S'pose he opened his mouth--what then? ?If he didn't shut itup powerful quick he'd lose a lie every time. ?That's the kind of a bugHenry was; and if we'd a had him along 'stead of our kings he'd a fooledthat town a heap worse than ourn done. ?I don't say that ourn is lambs,because they ain't, when you come right down to the cold facts; but theyain't nothing to _that_ old ram, anyway. ?All I say is, kings is kings,and you 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'sa middling 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, and wegot to remember what they are, and make allowances. ?Sometimes I wish wecould 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 was lowand homesick; because he hadn't ever been away from home before in hislife; and I do believe he cared just as much for his people as whitefolks does for their'n. ?It don't seem natural, but I reckon it's so.?He was often moaning and mourning that way nights, when he judged Iwas asleep, and saying, "Po' little 'Lizabeth! po' little Johnny! it'smighty hard; I spec' I ain't ever gwyne to see you no mo', no mo'!" ?Hewas 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 over yonderon de bank like a whack, er a slam, while ago, en it mine me er de timeI treat my little 'Lizabeth so ornery. ?She warn't on'y 'bout fo' yearole, en she tuck de sk'yarlet fever, en had a powful rough spell; butshe got well, en one day she was a-stannin' aroun', en I says to her, Isays:

  "'Shet de do'.'

  "She never done it; jis' stood dah, kiner smilin' up at me. ?It make memad; en I says agin, 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 chile stannin'mos' right in it, a-lookin' down and mournin', en de tears runnin' down.?My, but I _wuz_ mad! ?I was a-gwyne for de chile, but jis' den--it was ado' dat open innerds--jis' den, 'long come de wind en slam it to, behinede chile, ker-BLAM!--en my lan', de chile never 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' en open de do' easy en slow, en poke myhead in behine de chile, sof' en still, en all uv a sudden I says POW!jis' as loud as I could yell. ?_She never budge!_ ?Oh, Huck, I bust outa-cryin' en grab her up in my arms, en say, 'Oh, de po' little thing!?De Lord God Amighty fogive po' ole Jim, kaze he never gwyne to fogivehisself as long's he live!' ?Oh, she was plumb deef en dumb, Huck, plumbdeef en dumb--en I'd ben a-treat'n her so!"