"Hold  on!  Just  a  word,  gentlemen." They stopped to listen. "We are
sold-mighty badly sold. But we don't want to be the laughing stock of this
whole  town, I reckon, and never hear the last of this thing as long as we
live.  NO. What we want is to go out of here quiet, and talk this show up,
and  sell  the REST of the town! Then we'll all be in the same 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. Go along home, and
advise everybody to come and see the tragedy."
   Next  day  you  couldn't hear nothing around that town but how splendid
that  show  was. House was jammed again that night, and we sold this crowd
the  same  way.  When me and the king and the duke got home to the raft we
all had a supper; and by and by, about midnight, they made Jim and me back
her  out  and float her down the middle of the river, and fetch her in and
hide her about two mile below town.
   The  third night the house was crammed again-and they warn't new-comers
this  time,  but people that was at the show the other two nights. I stood
by  the  duke  at  the door, and I see that every man that went in had his
pockets  bulging,  or  something  muffled  up  under his coat-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 such things; and if I know the signs
of  a  dead cat being around, and I bet I do, there was sixty-four of them
went  in. I shoved in there for a minute, but it was too various for me; I
couldn't  stand  it. Well, when the place couldn't hold no more people the
duke  he  give  a  fellow  a  quarter  and told him to tend door for him a
minute,  and  then  he started around for the stage door, I after him; 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 the
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 and
still, and edging towards the middle of the river, nobody saying a word. I
reckoned  the  poor  king was in for a gaudy time of it with the audience,
but  nothing of the sort; pretty soon he crawls out from under the wigwam,
and says:
   "Well,  how'd  the  old  thing pan out this time, duke?" He hadn't been
up-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 fairly laughed
their bones loose over the way they'd served them people. The duke says:
   "Greenhorns,  flatheads!  I knew the first house would keep mum and let
the  rest of the town get roped in; and I knew they'd lay for us the third
night, and consider it was THEIR turn now. Well, it IS their turn, 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 plenty provisions."
   Them  rapscallions  took  in four hundred and sixtyfive dollars in that
three  nights.  I  never  see  money hauled in by the wagon-load like that
before. 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 all alike,"
   "But,  Huck, dese kings o' ourn is reglar rapscallions; dat's jist what
dey is; dey's reglar rapscallions."
   "Well,  that's  what I'm a-saying; all kings is mostly rapscallions, as
fur 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 Edward Second,
and Richard Third, and forty more; besides all them Saxon heptarchies 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 a blossom. He used to
marry  a  new  wife  every day, and chop off her head next morning. And he
would  do  it just as indifferent as if he was ordering up eggs. 'Fetch up
Nell  Gwynn,'  he  says.  They  fetch  her up. Next morning, 'Chop off her
head!'  And  they  chop it off. 'Fetch up Jane Shore,' he says; and up she
comes,  Next  morning,  'Chop off her head'-and they chop it off. 'Ring up
Fair  Rosamun.' Fair Rosamun answers the bell. Next morning, 'Chop off her
head.'  And  he made every one of them tell him a tale every night; and he
kept  that  up  till  he had hogged a thousand and one tales that way, and
then  he  put  them all in a book, and called it Domesday Book-which was a
good name 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 in history.
Well,  Henry  he  takes a notion he wants to get up some trouble with this
country.  How  does  he go at it-give notice?-give the country a show? No.
All  of  a  sudden  he  heaves all the tea in Boston Harbor overboard, and
whacks  out a declaration of independence, and dares them to come on. That
was  HIS  style-he  never  give anybody a chance. 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 of mamsey, like a cat. S'pose people left 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 set down there and
see that he done it-what did he do? He always done the other thing. S'pose
he opened his mouth-what then? If he didn't shut it up powerful quick he'd
lose  a  lie every time. That's the kind of a bug Henry was; and if we'd a
had  him  along  'stead  of our kings he'd a fooled that 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 they ain'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 mighty ornery 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; history
don'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 a middling
hard lot for a duke. When he's drunk there ain't no near-sighted man could
tell him from a king."
   "Well,  anyways,  I  doan' hanker for no mo' un um, Huck. Dese is all I
kin stan'."
   "It's the way I feel, too, Jim. But we've got them on our hands, and we
got  to  remember  what they are, and make allowances. Sometimes I wish 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? It
wouldn't a done no good; and, besides, it was just as I said: you couldn't
tell them from the real kind.
   I  went  to sleep, and Jim didn't call me when it was my turn. He often
done  that. When I waked up just at daybreak he was sitting there with his
head  down  betwixt  his  knees, moaning and mourning to himself. I didn't
take  notice nor let on. I knowed what it was about. He was thinking about
his  wife  and  his children, away up yonder, and he was low and homesick;
because  he  hadn't  ever been away from home before in his life; and I do
believe  he  cared  just  as  much  for his people as white folks 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 I 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', no mo'!" He was a mighty good nigger,
Jim was.
   But  this time I somehow got to talking to him about his wife and young
ones; and by and by he says:
   "What makes me feel so bad dis time 'uz bekase I hear sumpn over yonder
on  de bank like a whack, er a slam, while ago, en it mine me er de time I
treat  my  little 'Lizabeth so ornery. She warn't on'y 'bout fo' year ole,
en  she  tuck de sk'yarlet fever, en had a powful rough spell; but she got
well, en one day she was a-stannin' aroun', en I says to her, I says:
   "'Shet de do'.'
   "She  never done it; jis' stood dah, kiner smilin' up at me. It make me
mad; 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 when I
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 a do' dat
open  innerds-jis' den, 'long come de wind en slam it to, behine de 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 my head 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 out a-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 fogive hisself as long's he live!' Oh,
she  was  plumb deef en dumb, Huck, plumb deef en dumb-en I'd ben atreat'n
her so!"


        Chapter XXIV.

   NEXT  day,  towards night, we laid up under a little willow towhead out
in  the  middle,  where there was a village on each side of the river, and
the  duke and the king begun to lay out a plan for working them towns. Jim
he  spoke to the duke, and said he hoped it wouldn't take but a few hours,
because it got mighty heavy and tiresome to him when he had to lay all day
in  the  wigwam tied with the rope. You see, when we left him all alone we
had  to  tie him, because if anybody happened on to him all by himself and
not  tied it wouldn't look much like he was a runaway nigger, you know. So
the  duke  said it WAS kind of hard to have to lay roped all day, and he'd
cipher out some way to get around it.
   He was uncommon bright, the duke was, and he soon struck it. He dressed
Jim  up  in  King  Lear's  outfit-it was a long curtain-calico gown, and a
white  horse-hair wig and whiskers; and then he took his theater paint and
painted  Jim's  face  and  hands  and ears and neck all over a dead, dull,
solid blue, like a man that's been drownded nine days. Blamed if he warn't
the  horriblest  looking  outrage I ever see. Then the duke took and wrote
out a sign on a shingle so:
   Sick Arab-but harmless when not out of his head.
   And  he  nailed  that  shingle to a lath, and stood the lath up four or
five  foot  in  front  of  the wigwam. Jim was satisfied. He said it was a
sight  better  than  lying tied a couple of years every day, and trembling
all  over  every time there was a sound. The duke told him to make himself
free  and  easy, and if anybody ever come meddling around, he must hop out
of  the wigwam, and carry on a little, and fetch a howl or two like a wild
beast, and he reckoned they would light out and leave him alone. Which was
sound  enough judgment; but you take the average man, and he wouldn't wait
for  him  to  howl.  Why,  he didn't only look like he was dead, he looked
considerable more than that.
   These  rapscallions wanted to try the Nonesuch again, because there was
so  much  money  in it, but they judged it wouldn't be safe, because maybe
the  news  might  a  worked  along down by this time. They couldn't hit no
project that suited exactly; so at last the duke said he reckoned he'd lay
off  and  work  his  brains  an  hour or two and see if he couldn't put up
something  on  the Arkansaw village; and the king he allowed he would drop
over  to t'other village without any plan, but just trust in Providence to
lead him the profitable way-meaning the devil, I reckon. We had all bought
store clothes where we stopped last; and now the king put his'n on, and he
told  me  to  put  mine  on. I done it, of course. The king's duds was all
black,  and he did look real swell and starchy. I never knowed how clothes
could  change a body before. Why, before, he looked like the orneriest old
rip  that  ever  was; but now, when he'd take off his new white beaver and
make  a  bow  and do a smile, he looked that grand and good and pious that
you'd  say he had walked right out of the ark, and maybe was old Leviticus
himself.  Jim cleaned up the canoe, and I got my paddle ready. There was a
big  steamboat  laying  at  the shore away up under the point, about three
mile  above the town-been there a couple of hours, taking on freight. Says
the king:
   "Seein'  how  I'm dressed, I reckon maybe I better arrive down from St.
Louis  or  Cincinnati,  or  some  other  big  place. Go for the steamboat,
Huckleberry; we'll come down to the village on her."
   I  didn't  have  to be ordered twice to go and take a steamboat ride. I
fetched  the shore a half a mile above the village, and then went scooting
along  the  bluff  bank  in  the easy water. Pretty soon we come to a nice
innocent-looking  young  country  jake setting on a log swabbing the sweat
off  of his face, for it was powerful warm weather; and he had a couple of
big carpet-bags by him.
   "Run  her  nose  in  shore," says the king. I done it. "Wher' you bound
for, young man?"
   "For the steamboat; going to Orleans."
   "Git aboard," says the king. "Hold on a minute, my servant 'll he'p you
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:
   "When  I  first see you I says to myself, 'It's Mr. Wilks, sure, and he
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?"
   "No, my name's Blodgett-Elexander Blodgett-REVEREND Elexander Blodgett,
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."
   "Well,  he  don't  miss  any property by it, because he'll get that all
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."
   "Did anybody send 'em word?"
   "Oh,  yes; a month or two ago, when Peter was first took; because Peter
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?"
   "Oh,  he  lives in England-Sheffield-preaches there-hasn't ever been in
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?"
   "Yes,  but  that  ain't  only  a  part of it. I'm going in a ship, next
Wednesday, for Ryo Janeero, where my uncle lives."
   "It's  a pretty long journey. But it'll be lovely; wisht I was a-going.
Is Mary Jane the oldest? How old is the others?"
   "Mary   Jane's   nineteen,   Susan's   fifteen,   and   Joanna's  about
fourteen-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:
   "What did you want to walk all the way up to the steamboat for?"
   "Because  she's  a big Orleans boat, and I was afeard she mightn't stop
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."
   "When did you say he died?"
   "I didn't say, but it was last night."
   "Funeral to-morrow, likely?"
   "Yes, 'bout the middle of the day."
   "Well,  it's  all  terrible  sad;  but we've all got to go, one time or
another. So what we want to do is to be prepared; then we're all right."
   "Yes, sir, it's the best way. Ma used to always say that."
   When we struck the boat she was about done loading, and pretty soon she
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:
   "Now  hustle  back,  right off, and fetch the duke up here, and the new
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:
   "If  gentlemen  kin  afford to pay a dollar a mile apiece to be took on
and put off in a yawl, a steamboat kin afford to carry 'em, can't it?"
   So they softened down and said it was all right; and when we got to the
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."
   Sudden  as  winking the ornery old cretur went an to smash, and fell up
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!"
   Then  he  turns around, blubbering, and makes a lot of idiotic signs to
the  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 Marsy 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.
   Then  the  king he hunched the duke private-I see him do it-and then he
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  goodygoody Amen, and turns himself loose and goes to crying
fit to bust.
   And  the  minute  the  words were out of his mouth somebody over in the
crowd  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-googoo" 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.
   Then  Mary  Jane she fetched the letter her father left behind, and the
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  aboveboard;  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, Biljy, it
beats the Nonesuch, DON'T it?"
   The  duke  allowed  it  did. They pawed the yallerboys, 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."
   Most  everybody  would  a  been satisfied with the pile, and took it on
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?"
   They  worried  over  that awhile, and ransacked all around for it. Then
the duke says:
   "Well,  he was a pretty sick man, and likely he made a mistake-I reckon
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-"
   "Hold  on," says the duke. "Le's make up the deffisit," and he begun to
haul out yaller-boys out of his pocket.
   "It's  a  most  amaz'n'  good idea, duke-you HAVE got a rattlin' clever
head 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."
   "Good land, duke, lemme hug you! It's the most dazzling idea 'at ever a
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."
   When we got up-stairs everybody gethered around the table, and the king
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 leatherheaded 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."
   Mary  Jane  she went for him, Susan and the hare-lip went for the duke,
and  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:
   "You DEAR good souls!-how LOVELY!-how COULD you!"
   Well,  then,  pretty  soon  all hands got to talking about the diseased
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."
   And  so  he  went a-mooning on and on, liking to hear himself talk, and
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:
   "Poor  William,  afflicted as he is, his HEART'S aluz right. Asks me to
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 ironjawed 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 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?"
   Mary  Jane  straightened  herself up, and my, but she was handsome! She
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:
   "All  right;  I  wash MY hands of the matter. But I warn you all that a
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.

   WELL,  when  they  was all gone the king he asks Mary Jane how they was
off  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.
   So  Mary  Jane  took  us up, and she showed them their rooms, which was
plain  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.
   That night they had a big supper, and all them men and women was there,
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:
   "Did you ever see the king?"
   "Who?  William  Fourth?  Well,  I  bet I have-he goes to our church." I
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?"
   "Well, he does. Where WOULD he live?"
   "But I thought YOU lived in Sheffield?"
   I  see  I  was up a stump. I had to let on to get choked with a chicken
bone, so as to get time to think how to get down again. Then I says:
   "I  mean  he  goes to our church regular when he's in Sheffield. That's
only in the summer time, when he comes there to take the sea baths."
   "Why, how you talk-Sheffield ain't on the sea."
   "Well, who said it was?"
   "Why, you did."
   "I DIDN'T nuther."
   "You did!"
   "I didn't."
   "You did."
   "I never said nothing of the kind."
   "Well, what DID you say, then?"
   "Said he come to take the sea BATHS-that's what I said."
   "Well, then,  how's  he  going to take the sea baths if it ain't on the
sea?"
   "Looky here," I says; "did you ever see any Congress-water?"
   "Yes."
   "Well, did you have to go to Congress to get it?"
   "Why, no."
   "Well,  neither  does William Fourth have to go to the sea to get a sea
bath."
   "How does he get it, then?"
   "Gets  it the way people down here gets Congresswater-in barrels. There
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."
   "Oh,  I  see,  now.  You might a said that in the first place and saved
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:
   "Blame it, do you suppose there ain't but one preacher to a church?"
   "Why, what do they want with more?"
   "What!-to  preach  before  a  king? I never did see such a girl as you.
They don't have no less than seventeen."
   "Seventeen! My land! Why, I wouldn't set out such a string as that, not
if I NEVER got to glory. It must take 'em a week."
   "Shucks, they don't ALL of 'em preach the same day-only ONE of 'em."
   "Well, then, what does the rest of 'em do?"
   "Oh,  nothing  much.  Loll  around,  pass  the  plate-and  one thing or
another. But mainly they don't do nothing."
   "Well, then, what are they FOR?"
   "Why, they're for STYLE. Don't you know nothing?"
   "Well,  I  don't  WANT  to  know  no  such  foolishness as that. How is
servants  treated  in  England?  Do  they treat 'em better 'n we treat our
niggers?"
   "NO! A servant ain't nobody there. They treat them worse than dogs."
   "Don't  they give 'em holidays, the way we do, Christmas and New Year's
week, and Fourth of July?"
   "Oh,  just listen! A body could tell YOU hain't ever been to England by
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."
   "Nor church?"
   "Nor church."
   "But YOU always went to church."
   Well,  I  was  gone up again. I forgot I was the old man's servant. But
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:
   "Honest injun, now, hain't you been telling me a lot of lies?"
   "Honest injun," says I.
   "None of it at all?"
   "None of it at all. Not a lie in it," says I.
   "Lay your hand on this book and say it."
   I  see  it warn't nothing but a dictionary, so I laid my hand on it and
said it. So then she looked a little better satisfied, and says:
   "Well,  then,  I'll  believe some of it; but I hope to gracious if I'll
believe the rest."
   "What  is  it you won't believe, Joe?" says Mary Jane, stepping in with
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?"
   "That's always your way, Maim-always sailing in to help somebody before
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."
   "Why, Maim, he said-"
   "It  don't  make  no  difference what he SAID-that ain't the thing. The
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!
   Then  Susan  SHE  waltzed  in;  and  if you'll believe me, she did give
Hare-lip hark from the tomb!
   Says  I to myself, and this is ANOTHER one that I'm letting him rob her
of her money!
   Then  Mary  Jane  she took another inning, and went in sweet and lovely
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."
   The  duke  he  grumbled; said the bag of gold was enough, and he didn't
want  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?"
   So they got ready to go down stairs again. The duke says:
   "I don't think we put that money in a good place."
   That  cheered me up. I'd begun to think I warn't going to get a hint of
no kind to help me. The king says:
   "Why?"
   "Because Mary Jane 'll be in mourning from this out; and first you know
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?"
   "Your  head's level agin, duke," says the king; and he comes a-fumbling
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.
   So  I  held  on  till  all  the late sounds had quit and the early ones
hadn't 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  moneybag  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.
   I  slipped  up  to  bed,  feeling ruther blue, on accounts of the thing
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.
   When  I  got down stairs in the morning the parlor was shut up, and the
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.
   Towards  the  middle  of  the day the undertaker come with his man, and
they  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.
   Then  the  people  begun  to flock in, and the beats and the girls took
seats  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.
   They  had borrowed a melodeum-a sick one; and when everything was ready
a  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 undertaker was.
   Well,  the  funeral  sermon was very good, but pison long and tiresome;
and  then the king he shoved in and got off some of his usual rubbage, and
at  last  the job was through, and the undertaker begun to sneak up on the
coffin  with  his  screw-driver.  I  was  in a sweat then, and watched him
pretty  keen. But he never meddled at all; just slid the lid along as soft
as mush, and screwed it down tight and fast. So there I was! I didn't know
whether  the  money  was  in there or not. So, says I, s'pose somebody has
hogged  that  bag  on  the sly?-now how do I know whether to write to Mary
Jane or not? S'pose she dug him up and didn't find nothing, what would she
think  of  me?  Blame  it,  I  says, I might get hunted up and jailed; I'd
better  lay  low  and  keep  dark, and not write at all; the thing's awful
mixed  now;  trying  to better it, I've worsened it a hundred times, and I
wish to goodness I'd just let it alone, dad fetch the whole business!
   They  buried  him,  and we come back home, and I went to watching faces
again-I  couldn't  help  it, and I couldn't rest easy. But nothing come of
it; the faces didn't tell me nothing.
   The  king he visited around in the evening, and sweetened everybody up,
and  made  himself  ever  so  friendly;  and he give out the idea that his
congregation  over  in  England  would be in a sweat about him, so he must
hurry  and settle up the estate right away and leave for home. He was very
sorry  he  was  so pushed, and so was everybody; they wished he could stay
longer,  but  they said they could see it couldn't be done. And he said of
course  him  and  William  would  take  the girls home with them; and that
pleased  everybody  too,  because  then  the girls would be well fixed and
amongst their own relations; and it pleased the girls, too-tickled them so
they  clean  forgot  they ever had a trouble in the world; and told him to
sell  out  as quick as he wanted to, they would be ready. Them poor things
was  that  glad and happy it made my heart ache to see them getting fooled
and  lied to so, but I didn't see no safe way for me to chip in and change
the general tune.
   Well,  blamed if the king didn't bill the house and the niggers and all
the property for auction straight off-sale two days after the funeral; but
anybody could buy private beforehand if they wanted to.
   So the next day after the funeral, along about noontime, the girls' joy
got  the  first  jolt. A couple of nigger traders come along, and the king
sold  them the niggers reasonable, for three-day drafts as they called it,
and away they went, the two sons up the river to Memphis, and their mother
down  the  river  to  Orleans.  I thought them poor girls and them niggers
would break their hearts for grief; they cried around each other, and took
on so it most made me down sick to see it. The girls said they hadn't ever
dreamed of seeing the family separated or sold away from the town. I can't
ever  get  it out of my memory, the sight of them poor miserable girls and
niggers  hanging  around  each  other's  necks  and crying; and I reckon I
couldn't  a stood it all, but would a had to bust out and tell on our gang
if  I  hadn't  knowed  the sale warn't no account and the niggers would be
back home in a week or two.
   The  thing  made  a big stir in the town, too, and a good many come out
flatfooted  and  said  it  was  scandalous  to separate the mother and the
children  that way. It injured the frauds some; but the old fool he bulled
right  along,  spite  of  all the duke could say or do, and I tell you the
duke was powerful uneasy.
   Next  day  was auction day. About broad day in the morning the king and
the  duke  come  up  in the garret and woke me up, and I see by their look
that there was trouble. The king says:
   "Was you in my room night before last?"
   "No,  your  majesty"-which  was the way I always called him when nobody
but our gang warn't around.
   "Was you in there yisterday er last night?"
   "No, your majesty."
   "Honor bright, now-no lies."
   "Honor  bright,  your majesty, I'm telling you the truth. I hain't been
a-near  your room since Miss Mary Jane took you and the duke and showed it
to you."
   The duke says:
   "Have you seen anybody else go in there?"
   "No, your grace, not as I remember, I believe."
   "Stop and think."
   I studied awhile and see my chance; then I says:
   "Well, I see the niggers go in there several times."
   Both  of  them  gave  a  little  jump, and looked like they hadn't ever
expected it, and then like they HAD. Then the duke says:
   "What, all of them?"
   "No-leastways,  not  all at once-that is, I don't think I ever see them
all come OUT at once but just one time."
   "Hello! When was that?"
   "It  was  the  day we had the funeral. In the morning. It warn't early,
because I overslept. I was just starting down the ladder, and I see them."
   "Well, go on, GO on! What did they do? How'd they act?"
   "They  didn't  do nothing. And they didn't act anyway much, as fur as I
see.  They  tiptoed  away;  so  I seen, easy enough, that they'd shoved in
there to do up your majesty's room, or something, s'posing you was up; and
found  you  WARN'T  up,  and so they was hoping to slide out of the way of
trouble without waking you up, if they hadn't already waked you up."
   "Great  guns,  THIS  is  a  go!" says the king; and both of them looked
pretty   sick  and  tolerable  silly.  They  stood  there  a-thinking  and
scratching  their  heads  a  minute, and the duke he bust into a kind of a
little raspy chuckle, and says:
   "It  does  beat all how neat the niggers played their hand. They let on
to  be  SORRY  they  was going out of this region! And I believed they WAS
sorry,  and  so did you, and so did everybody. Don't ever tell ME any more
that  a  nigger  ain't got any histrionic talent. Why, the way they played
that thing it would fool ANYBODY. In my opinion, there's a fortune in 'em.
If  I  had  capital  and  a theater, I wouldn't want a better lay-out than
that-and  here  we've  gone  and  sold  'em  for  a  song.  Yes, and ain't
privileged to sing the song yet. Say, where IS that song-that draft?"
   "In the bank for to be collected. Where WOULD it be?"
   "Well, THAT'S all right then, thank goodness."
   Says I, kind of timid-like:
   "Is something gone wrong?"
   The king whirls on me and rips out:
   "None  o'  your  business!  You  keep  your head shet, and mind y'r own
affairs-if  you  got  any.  Long  as  you're in this town don't you forgit
THAT-you  hear?"  Then he says to the duke, "We got to jest swaller it and
say noth'n': mum's the word for US."
   As  they  was  starting down the ladder the duke he chuckles again, and
says:
   "Quick sales AND small profits! It's a good business-yes."
   The king snarls around on him and says:
   "I  was  trying  to do for the best in sellin' 'em out so quick. If the
profits  has turned out to be none, lackin' considable, and none to carry,
is it my fault any more'n it's yourn?"
   "Well,  THEY'D be in this house yet and we WOULDN'T if I could a got my
advice listened to."
   The  king  sassed  back  as  much as was safe for him, and then swapped
around and lit into ME again. He give me down the banks for not coming and
TELLING  him  I  see the niggers come out of his room acting that way-said
any  fool  would a KNOWED something was up. And then waltzed in and cussed
HIMSELF awhile, and said it all come of him not laying late and taking his
natural rest that morning, and he'd be blamed if he'd ever do it again. So
they  went off a-jawing; and I felt dreadful glad I'd worked it all off on
to the niggers, and yet hadn't done the niggers no harm by it.


        Chapter XXVIII.

   BY and by it was getting-up time. So I come down the ladder and started
for down-stairs; but as I come to the girls' room the door was open, and I
see Mary Jane setting by her old hair trunk, which was open and she'd been
packing  things  in it-getting ready to go to England. But she had stopped
now  with a folded gown in her lap, and had her face in her hands, crying.
I  felt  awful bad to see it; of course anybody would. I went in there and
says:
   "Miss  Mary  Jane,  you  can't  a-bear  to see people in trouble, and I
can't-most always. Tell me about it."
   So she done it. And it was the niggers-I just expected it. She said the
beautiful  trip to England was most about spoiled for her; she didn't know
HOW  she  was  ever  going  to  be happy there, knowing the mother and the
children  warn't  ever going to see each other no more-and then busted out
bitterer than ever, and flung up her hands, and says:
   "Oh,  dear,  dear, to think they ain't EVER going to see each other any
more!"
   "But they WILL-and inside of two weeks-and I KNOW it!" says I.
   Laws,  it  was  out  before I could think! And before I could budge she
throws  her arms around my neck and told me to say it AGAIN, say it AGAIN,
say it AGAIN!
   I  see  I  had  spoke  too sudden and said too much, and was in a close
place.  I  asked  her  to  let  me think a minute; and she set there, very
impatient  and  excited  and  handsome,  but  looking  kind  of  happy and
eased-up,  like  a  person  that's  had  a  tooth pulled out. So I went to
studying  it out. I says to myself, I reckon a body that ups and tells the
truth  when  he  is  in  a  tight place is taking considerable many resks,
though  I ain't had no experience, and can't say for certain; but it looks
so  to  me, anyway; and yet here's a case where I'm blest if it don't look
to  me like the truth is better and actuly SAFER than a lie. I must lay it
by  in  my  mind,  and  think  it over some time or other, it's so kind of
strange and unregular. I never see nothing like it. Well, I says to myself
at  last,  I'm a-going to chance it; I'll up and tell the truth this time,
though it does seem most like setting down on a kag of powder and touching
it off just to see where you'll go to. Then I says:
   "Miss Mary Jane, is there any place out of town a little ways where you
could go and stay three or four days?"
   "Yes; Mr. Lothrop's. Why?"
   "Never  mind  why yet. If I'll tell you how I know the niggers will see
each  other  again  inside of two weeks-here in this house-and PROVE how I
know it-will you go to Mr. Lothrop's and stay four days?"
   "Four days!" she says; "I'll stay a year!"
   "All  right,"  I  says, "I don't want nothing more out of YOU than just
your word-I druther have it than another man's kiss-the-Bible." She smiled
and  reddened  up very sweet, and I says, "If you don't mind it, I'll shut
the door-and bolt it."
   Then I come back and set down again, and says:
   "Don't you holler. Just set still and take it like a man. I got to tell
the  truth,  and you want to brace up, Miss Mary, because it's a bad kind,
and going to be hard to take, but there ain't no help for it. These uncles
of  yourn  ain't  no  uncles  at  all;  they're a couple of frauds-regular
dead-beats.  There, now we're over the worst of it, you can stand the rest
middling easy."
   It  jolted  her up like everything, of course; but I was over the shoal
water now, so I went right along, her eyes a-blazing higher and higher all
the  time, and told her every blame thing, from where we first struck that
young  fool  going  up  to the steamboat, clear through to where she flung
herself  on  to  the  king's  breast  at  the front door and he kissed her
sixteen or seventeen times-and then up she jumps, with her face afire like
sunset, and says:
   "The  brute!  Come,  don't  waste a minute-not a SECOND-we'll have them
tarred and feathered, and flung in the river!"
   Says I:
   "Cert'nly. But do you mean BEFORE you go to Mr. Lothrop's, or-"
   "Oh,"  she  says,  "what  am I THINKING about!" she says, and set right
down  again.  "Don't  mind  what  I said-please don't-you WON'T, now, WILL
you?"  Laying  her  silky hand on mine in that kind of a way that I said I
would die first. "I never thought, I was so stirred up," she says; "now go
on,  and  I won't do so any more. You tell me what to do, and whatever you
say I'll do it."
   "Well," I says, "it's a rough gang, them two frauds, and I'm fixed so I
got to travel with them a while longer, whether I want to or not-I druther
not  tell  you  why; and if you was to blow on them this town would get me
out  of  their  claws, and I'd be all right; but there'd be another person
that  you  don't  know about who'd be in big trouble. Well, we got to save
HIM, hain't we? Of course. Well, then, we won't blow on them."
   Saying  them  words put a good idea in my head. I see how maybe I could
get  me  and  Jim rid of the frauds; get them jailed here, and then leave.
But I didn't want to run the raft in the daytime without anybody aboard to
answer  questions  but me; so I didn't want the plan to begin working till
pretty late to-night. I says:
   "Miss  Mary  Jane,  I'll  tell you what we'll do, and you won't have to
stay at Mr. Lothrop's so long, nuther. How fur is it?"
   "A little short of four miles-right out in the country, back here."
   "Well,  that  'll  answer. Now you go along out there, and lay low till
nine or half-past to-night, and then get them to fetch you home again-tell
them  you've  thought  of  something.  If you get here before eleven put a
candle  in  this window, and if I don't turn up wait TILL eleven, and THEN
if  I  don't turn up it means I'm gone, and out of the way, and safe. Then
you come out and spread the news around, and get these beats jailed."
   "Good," she says, "I'll do it."
   "And if it just happens so that I don't get away, but get took up along
with  them, you must up and say I told you the whole thing beforehand, and
you must stand by me all you can."
   "Stand  by you! indeed I will. They sha'n't touch a hair of your head!"
she  says,  and  I see her nostrils spread and her eyes snap when she said
it, too.
   "If I get away I sha'n't be here," I says, "to prove these rapscallions
ain't  your uncles, and I couldn't do it if I WAS here. I could swear they
was  beats  and  bummers, that's all, though that's worth something. Well,
there's others can do that better than what I can, and they're people that
ain't  going  to  be doubted as quick as I'd be. I'll tell you how to find
them.  Gimme  a  pencil  and  a  piece  of  paper.  There-'Royal Nonesuch,
Bricksville.' Put it away, and don't lose it. When the court wants to find
out  something  about  these  two, let them send up to Bricksville and say
they've  got  the  men  that  played  the Royal Nonesuch, and ask for some
witnesses-why,  you'll  have  that  entire  town  down here before you can
hardly wink, Miss Mary. And they'll come a-biling, too."
   I judged we had got everything fixed about right now. So I says:
   "Just  let  the  auction  go right along, and don't worry. Nobody don't
have  to pay for the things they buy till a whole day after the auction on
accounts  of  the short notice, and they ain't going out of this till they
get  that money; and the way we've fixed it the sale ain't going to count,
and  they  ain't going to get no money. It's just like the way it was with
the  niggers-it  warn't no sale, and the niggers will be back before long.
Why, they can't collect the money for the NIGGERS yet-they're in the worst
kind of a fix, Miss Mary."
   "Well,"  she says, "I'll run down to breakfast now, and then I'll start
straight for Mr. Lothrop's."
   "'Deed,  THAT  ain't the ticket, Miss Mary Jane," I says, "by no manner
of means; go BEFORE breakfast."
   "Why?"
   "What did you reckon I wanted you to go at all for, Miss Mary?"
   "Well, I never thought-and come to think, I don't know. What was it?"
   "Why,  it's  because you ain't one of these leatherface people. I don't
want  no  better book than what your face is. A body can set down and read
it  off  like  coarse print. Do you reckon you can go and face your uncles
when they come to kiss you goodmorning, and never-"
   "There,  there,  don't!  Yes, I'll go before breakfast-I'll be glad to.
And leave my sisters with them?"
   "Yes;  never mind about them. They've got to stand it yet a while. They
might suspicion something if all of you was to go. I don't want you to see
them,  nor your sisters, nor nobody in this town; if a neighbor was to ask
how is your uncles this morning your face would tell something. No, you go
right  along,  Miss Mary Jane, and I'll fix it with all of them. I'll tell
Miss Susan to give your love to your uncles and say you've went away for a
few  hours  for  to  get a little rest and change, or to see a friend, and
you'll be back to-night or early in the morning."
   "Gone  to  see a friend is all right, but I won't have my love given to
them."
   "Well,  then, it sha'n't be." It was well enough to tell HER so-no harm
in  it.  It  was  only  a little thing to do, and no trouble; and it's the
little  things  that  smooths people's roads the most, down here below; it
would  make  Mary  Jane  comfortable, and it wouldn't cost nothing. Then I
says: "There's one more thing-that bag of money."
   "Well, they've got that; and it makes me feel pretty silly to think HOW
they got it."
   "No, you're out, there. They hain't got it."
   "Why, who's got it?"
   "I  wish I knowed, but I don't. I HAD it, because I stole it from them;
and  I  stole it to give to you; and I know where I hid it, but I'm afraid
it ain't there no more. I'm awful sorry, Miss Mary Jane, I'm just as sorry
as  I  can  be;  but  I  done  the best I could; I did honest. I come nigh
getting  caught, and I had to shove it into the first place I come to, and
run-and it warn't a good place."
   "Oh,  stop  blaming  yourself-it's  too bad to do it, and I won't allow
it-you couldn't help it; it wasn't your fault. Where did you hide it?"
   I  didn't  want  to set her to thinking about her troubles again; and I
couldn't  seem  to  get  my mouth to tell her what would make her see that
corpse  laying in the coffin with that bag of money on his stomach. So for
a minute I didn't say nothing; then I says:
   "I'd  ruther  not TELL you where I put it, Miss Mary Jane, if you don't
mind  letting  me  off; but I'll write it for you on a piece of paper, and
you  can  read  it along the road to Mr. Lothrop's, if you want to. Do you
reckon that 'll do?"
   "Oh, yes."
   So  I  wrote:  "I  put  it  in the coffin. It was in there when you was
crying  there,  away in the night. I was behind the door, and I was mighty
sorry for you, Miss Mary Jane."
   It  made  my  eyes  water  a little to remember her crying there all by
herself  in  the  night,  and them devils laying there right under her own
roof,  shaming her and robbing her; and when I folded it up and give it to
her I see the water come into her eyes, too; and she shook me by the hand,
hard, and says:
   "GOOD-bye.  I'm going to do everything just as you've told me; and if I
don't ever see you again, I sha'n't ever forget you. and I'll think of you
a many and a many a time, and I'll PRAY for you, too!"-and she was gone.
   Pray for me! I reckoned if she knowed me she'd take a job that was more
nearer  her  size.  But I bet she done it, just the same-she was just that
kind.  She  had  the  grit  to pray for Judus if she took the notion-there
warn't  no back-down to her, I judge. You may say what you want to, but in
my  opinion  she  had  more  sand  in  her than any girl I ever see; in my
opinion  she  was just full of sand. It sounds like flattery, but it ain't
no  flattery.  And when it comes to beauty-and goodness, too-she lays over
them  all. I hain't ever seen her since that time that I see her go out of
that  door; no, I hain't ever seen her since, but I reckon I've thought of
her  a  many  and a many a million times, and of her saying she would pray
for  me; and if ever I'd a thought it would do any good for me to pray for
HER, blamed if I wouldn't a done it or bust.
   Well,  Mary Jane she lit out the back way, I reckon; because nobody see
her go. When I struck Susan and the hare-lip, I says:
   "What's  the name of them people over on t'other side of the river that
you all goes to see sometimes?"
   They says:
   "There's several; but it's the Proctors, mainly."
   "That's  the name," I says; "I most forgot it. Well, Miss Mary Jane she
told  me  to  tell  you  she's  gone over there in a dreadful hurry-one of
them's sick."
   "Which one?"
   "I don't know; leastways, I kinder forget; but I thinks it's-"
   "Sakes alive, I hope it ain't HANNER?"
   "I'm sorry to say it," I says, "but Hanner's the very one."
   "My goodness, and she so well only last week! Is she took bad?"
   "It  ain't  no  name  for it. They set up with her all night, Miss Mary
Jane said, and they don't think she'll last many hours."
   "Only think of that, now! What's the matter with her?"
   I couldn't think of anything reasonable, right off that way, so I says:
   "Mumps."
   "Mumps your granny! They don't set up with people that's got the mumps."
   "They don't, don't they? You better bet they do with THESE mumps. These
mumps is different. It's a new kind, Miss Mary Jane said."
   "How's it a new kind?"
   "Because it's mixed up with other things."
   "What other things?"
   "Well, measles, and whooping-cough, and erysiplas, and consumption, and
yaller janders, and brain-fever, and I don't know what all."
   "My land! And they call it the MUMPS?"
   "That's what Miss Mary Jane said."
   "Well, what in the nation do they call it the MUMPS for?"
   "Why, because it IS the mumps. That's what it starts with."
   "Well, ther' ain't no sense in it. A body might stump his toe, and take
pison,  and  fall  down  the well, and break his neck, and bust his brains
out, and somebody come along and ask what killed him, and some numskull up
and  say, 'Why, he stumped his TOE.' Would ther' be any sense in that? NO.
And ther' ain't no sense in THIS, nuther. Is it ketching?"
   "Is  it  KETCHING? Why, how you talk. Is a HARROW catching-in the dark?
If you don't hitch on to one tooth, you're bound to on another, ain't you?
And  you  can't get away with that tooth without fetching the whole harrow
along,  can  you?  Well, these kind of mumps is a kind of a harrow, as you
may  say-and  it  ain't  no slouch of a harrow, nuther, you come to get it
hitched on good."
   "Well,  it's  awful,  I  think,"  says  the hare-lip. "I'll go to Uncle
Harvey and-"
   "Oh, yes," I says, "I WOULD. Of COURSE I would. I wouldn't lose no time."
   "Well, why wouldn't you?"
   "Just  look  at  it a minute, and maybe you can see. Hain't your uncles
obleegd  to  get  along  home  to  England as fast as they can? And do you
reckon  they'd  be  mean  enough  to  go  off and leave you to go all that
journey  by  yourselves?  YOU  know they'll wait for you. So fur, so good.
Your  uncle  Harvey's a preacher, ain't he? Very well, then; is a PREACHER
going  to  deceive  a  steamboat  clerk?  is  he  going  to deceive a SHIP
CLERK?-so  as to get them to let Miss Mary Jane go aboard? Now YOU know he
ain't.  What  WILL he do, then? Why, he'll say, 'It's a great pity, but my
church  matters  has  got to get along the best way they can; for my niece
has  been  exposed  to  the  dreadful  pluribus-unum mumps, and so it's my
bounden  duty  to set down here and wait the three months it takes to show
on  her  if  she's got it.' But never mind, if you think it's best to tell
your uncle Harvey-"
   "Shucks,  and stay fooling around here when we could all be having good
times in England whilst we was waiting to find out whether Mary Jane's got
it or not? Why, you talk like a muggins."
   "Well, anyway, maybe you'd better tell some of the neighbors."
   "Listen at that, now. You do beat all for natural stupidness. Can't you
SEE  that  THEY'D  go  and  tell?  Ther' ain't no way but just to not tell
anybody at ALL."
   "Well, maybe you're right-yes, I judge you ARE right."
   "But  I  reckon  we  ought to tell Uncle Harvey she's gone out a while,
anyway, so he won't be uneasy about her?"
   "Yes, Miss Mary Jane she wanted you to do that. She says, 'Tell them to
give  Uncle  Harvey  and William my love and a kiss, and say I've run over
the  river to see Mr.'-Mr.-what IS the name of that rich family your uncle
Peter used to think so much of?-I mean the one that-"
   "Why, you must mean the Apthorps, ain't it?"
   "Of  course;  bother  them  kind  of  names,  a body can't ever seem to
remember them, half the time, somehow. Yes, she said, say she has run over
for  to  ask  the Apthorps to be sure and come to the auction and buy this
house,  because  she allowed her uncle Peter would ruther they had it than
anybody else; and she's going to stick to them till they say they'll come,
and then, if she ain't too tired, she's coming home; and if she is, she'll
be  home  in  the  morning  anyway.  She said, don't say nothing about the
Proctors, but only about the Apthorps-which 'll be perfectly true, because
she  is  going  there  to  speak  about their buying the house; I know it,
because she told me so herself."
   "All  right,"  they  said, and cleared out to lay for their uncles, and
give them the love and the kisses, and tell them the message.
   Everything  was  all  right now. The girls wouldn't say nothing because
they  wanted to go to England; and the king and the duke would ruther Mary
Jane  was  off  working  for  the  auction  than around in reach of Doctor
Robinson.  I felt very good; I judged I had done it pretty neat-I reckoned
Tom  Sawyer  couldn't  a  done  it no neater himself. Of course he would a
throwed  more  style  into  it,  but I can't do that very handy, not being
brung up to it.
   Well, they held the auction in the public square, along towards the end
of  the  afternoon, and it strung along, and strung along, and the old man
he  was  on  hand and looking his level pisonest, up there longside of the
auctioneer,  and  chipping in a little Scripture now and then, or a little
goody-goody saying of some kind, and the duke he was around goo-gooing for
sympathy all he knowed how, and just spreading himself generly.
   But   by   and  by  the  thing  dragged  through,  and  everything  was
sold-everything  but a little old trifling lot in the graveyard. So they'd
got  to  work  that  off-I  never  see  such a girafft as the king was for
wanting  to  swallow  EVERYTHING.  Well, whilst they was at it a steamboat
landed,  and  in about two minutes up comes a crowd a-whooping and yelling
and laughing and carrying on, and singing out:
   "HERE'S  your  opposition  line!  here's  your two sets o' heirs to old
Peter Wilks-and you pays your money and you takes your choice!"


        Chapter XXIX.

   THEY  was  fetching  a  very  nice-looking  old  gentleman along, and a
nice-looking  younger  one,  with his right arm in a sling. And, my souls,
how  the  people  yelled  and laughed, and kept it up. But I didn't see no
joke  about it, and I judged it would strain the duke and the king some to
see  any.  I reckoned they'd turn pale. But no, nary a pale did THEY turn.
The  duke  he  never  let  on  he suspicioned what was up, but just went a
goo-gooing  around,  happy  and  satisfied, like a jug that's googling out
buttermilk; and as for the king, he just gazed and gazed down sorrowful on
them  new-comers  like  it  give him the stomach-ache in his very heart to
think  there could be such frauds and rascals in the world. Oh, he done it
admirable.  Lots  of the principal people gethered around the king, to let
him see they was on his side. That old gentleman that had just come looked
all  puzzled  to  death. Pretty soon he begun to speak, and I see straight
off he pronounced LIKE an Englishman-not the king's way, though the king's
WAS pretty good for an imitation. I can't give the old gent's words, nor I
can't imitate him; but he turned around to the crowd, and says, about like
this:
   "This  is  a  surprise  to  me  which  I  wasn't  looking for; and I'll
acknowledge,  candid  and  frank,  I  ain't very well fixed to meet it and
answer  it; for my brother and me has had misfortunes; he's broke his arm,
and  our  baggage got put off at a town above here last night in the night
by  a  mistake.  I am Peter Wilks' brother Harvey, and this is his brother
William, which can't hear nor speak-and can't even make signs to amount to
much, now't he's only got one hand to work them with. We are who we say we
are;  and  in a day or two, when I get the baggage, I can prove it. But up
till then I won't say nothing more, but go to the hotel and wait."
   So  him  and  the  new  dummy  started off; and the king he laughs, and
blethers out:
   "Broke  his  arm-VERY likely, AIN'T it?-and very convenient, too, for a
fraud  that's got to make signs, and ain't learnt how. Lost their baggage!
That's MIGHTY good!-and mighty ingenious-under the CIRCUMSTANCES!
   So  he  laughed again; and so did everybody else, except three or four,
or  maybe  half  a  dozen. One of these was that doctor; another one was a
sharplooking  gentleman,  with  a carpet-bag of the oldfashioned kind made
out  of  carpet-stuff,  that  had  just  come off of the steamboat and was
talking  to him in a low voice, and glancing towards the king now and then
and  nodding  their heads-it was Levi Bell, the lawyer that was gone up to
Louisville;  and  another  one  was  a big rough husky that come along and
listened to all the old gentleman said, and was listening to the king now.
And when the king got done this husky up and says:
   "Say, looky here; if you are Harvey Wilks, when'd you come to this town?"
   "The day before the funeral, friend," says the king.
   "But what time o' day?"
   "In the evenin'-'bout an hour er two before sundown."
   "HOW'D you come?"
   "I come down on the Susan Powell from Cincinnati."
   "Well,  then,  how'd  you come to be up at the Pint in the MORNIN'-in a
canoe?"
   "I warn't up at the Pint in the mornin'."
   "It's a lie."
   Several  of  them jumped for him and begged him not to talk that way to
an old man and a preacher.
   "Preacher  be  hanged,  he's  a fraud and a liar. He was up at the Pint
that  mornin'.  I live up there, don't I? Well, I was up there, and he was
up  there. I see him there. He come in a canoe, along with Tim Collins and
a boy."
   The doctor he up and says:
   "Would you know the boy again if you was to see him, Hines?"
   "I reckon I would, but I don't know. Why, yonder he is, now. I know him
perfectly easy."
   It was me he pointed at. The doctor says:
   "Neighbors,  I  don't know whether the new couple is frauds or not; but
if  THESE  two  ain't  frauds, I am an idiot, that's all. I think it's our
duty to see that they don't get away from here till we've looked into this
thing.  Come  along,  Hines; come along, the rest of you. We'll take these
fellows  to  the tavern and affront them with t'other couple, and I reckon
we'll find out SOMETHING before we get through."
   It  was nuts for the crowd, though maybe not for the king's friends; so
we  all  started.  It was about sundown. The doctor he led me along by the
hand, and was plenty kind enough, but he never let go my hand.
   We  all  got  in  a big room in the hotel, and lit up some candles, and
fetched in the new couple. First, the doctor says:
   "I  don't  wish  to  be  too hard on these two men, but I think they're
frauds,  and  they may have complices that we don't know nothing about. If
they  have, won't the complices get away with that bag of gold Peter Wilks
left?  It  ain't unlikely. If these men ain't frauds, they won't object to
sending  for that money and letting us keep it till they prove they're all
right-ain't that so?"
   Everybody  agreed  to  that.  So I judged they had our gang in a pretty
tight  place right at the outstart. But the king he only looked sorrowful,
and says:
   "Gentlemen,  I wish the money was there, for I ain't got no disposition
to throw anything in the way of a fair, open, out-and-out investigation o'
this  misable business; but, alas, the money ain't there; you k'n send and
see, if you want to."
   "Where is it, then?"
   "Well,  when  my  niece give it to me to keep for her I took and hid it
inside  o'  the  straw  tick o' my bed, not wishin' to bank it for the few
days we'd be here, and considerin' the bed a safe place, we not bein' used
to  niggers,  and  suppos'n'  'em  honest,  like  servants in England. The
niggers  stole  it the very next mornin' after I had went down stairs; and
when I sold 'em I hadn't missed the money yit, so they got clean away with
it. My servant here k'n tell you 'bout it, gentlemen."
   The  doctor  and  several  said  "Shucks!"  and  I  see  nobody  didn't
altogether  believe him. One man asked me if I see the niggers steal it. I
said  no, but I see them sneaking out of the room and hustling away, and I
never  thought  nothing, only I reckoned they was afraid they had waked up
my  master  and  was  trying to get away before he made trouble with them.
That was all they asked me. Then the doctor whirls on me and says:
   "Are YOU English, too?"
   I says yes; and him and some others laughed, and said, "Stuff!"
   Well,  then  they  sailed in on the general investigation, and there we
had it, up and down, hour in, hour out, and nobody never said a word about
supper, nor ever seemed to think about it-and so they kept it up, and kept
it  up;  and  it  WAS the worst mixed-up thing you ever see. They made the
king  tell  his  yarn,  and  they  made  the old gentleman tell his'n; and
anybody  but  a  lot  of prejudiced chuckleheads would a SEEN that the old
gentleman  was spinning truth and t'other one lies. And by and by they had
me up to tell what I knowed. The king he give me a left-handed look out of
the corner of his eye, and so I knowed enough to talk on the right side. I
begun  to  tell about Sheffield, and how we lived there, and all about the
English  Wilkses,  and  so on; but I didn't get pretty fur till the doctor
begun to laugh; and Levi Bell, the lawyer, says:
   "Set  down, my boy; I wouldn't strain myself if I was you. I reckon you
ain't  used  to  lying,  it  don't  seem  to  come handy; what you want is
practice. You do it pretty awkward."
   I didn't care nothing for the compliment, but I was glad to be let off,
anyway.
   The doctor he started to say something, and turns and says:
   "If  you'd  been  in  town  at first, Levi Bell-" The king broke in and
reached out his hand, and says:
   "Why,  is  this  my  poor  dead brother's old friend that he's wrote so
often about?"
   The  lawyer  and  him  shook  hands,  and  the lawyer smiled and looked
pleased,  and they talked right along awhile, and then got to one side and
talked low; and at last the lawyer speaks up and says:
   "That  'll  fix  it.  I'll  take the order and send it, along with your
brother's, and then they'll know it's all right."
   So  they got some paper and a pen, and the king he set down and twisted
his  head  to one side, and chawed his tongue, and scrawled off something;
and  then  they  give  the pen to the duke-and then for the first time the
duke  looked sick. But he took the pen and wrote. So then the lawyer turns
to the new old gentleman and says:
   "You and your brother please write a line or two and sign your names."
   The old gentleman wrote, but nobody couldn't read it. The lawyer looked
powerful astonished, and says:
   "Well,  it  beats ME-and snaked a lot of old letters out of his pocket,
and  examined them, and then examined the old man's writing, and then THEM
again;  and then says: "These old letters is from Harvey Wilks; and here's
THESE  two  handwritings, and anybody can see they didn't write them" (the
king  and  the  duke  looked  sold and foolish, I tell you, to see how the
lawyer  had  took them in), "and here's THIS old gentleman's hand writing,
and  anybody  can  tell,  easy  enough,  HE didn't write them-fact is, the
scratches he makes ain't properly WRITING at all. Now, here's some letters
from-"
   The new old gentleman says:
   "If  you please, let me explain. Nobody can read my hand but my brother
there-so he copies for me. It's HIS hand you've got there, not mine."
   "WELL!"  says  the lawyer, "this IS a state of things. I've got some of
William's  letters, too; so if you'll get him to write a line or so we can
com-"
   "He  CAN'T  write  with  his left hand," says the old gentleman. "If he
could  use his right hand, you would see that he wrote his own letters and
mine too. Look at both, please-they're by the same hand."
   The lawyer done it, and says:
   "I  believe  it's  so-and  if  it  ain't  so,  there's  a heap stronger
resemblance  than  I'd noticed before, anyway. Well, well, well! I thought
we  was  right  on the track of a slution, but it's gone to grass, partly.
But anyway, one thing is proved-THESE two ain't either of 'em Wilkses"-and
he wagged his head towards the king and the duke.
   Well,  what  do  you  think?  That muleheaded old fool wouldn't give in
THEN!  Indeed  he  wouldn't. Said it warn't no fair test. Said his brother
William was the cussedest joker in the world, and hadn't tried to write-HE
see  William  was going to play one of his jokes the minute he put the pen
to  paper.  And  so he warmed up and went warbling right along till he was
actuly  beginning  to  believe what he was saying HIMSELF; but pretty soon
the new gentleman broke in, and says:
   "I've  thought  of  something. Is there anybody here that helped to lay
out my br-helped to lay out the late Peter Wilks for burying?"
   "Yes," says somebody, "me and Ab Turner done it. We're both here."
   Then the old man turns towards the king, and says:
   "Peraps this gentleman can tell me what was tattooed on his breast?"
   Blamed  if  the  king  didn't  have to brace up mighty quick, or he'd a
squshed  down  like a bluff bank that the river has cut under, it took him
so  sudden; and, mind you, it was a thing that was calculated to make most
ANYBODY  sqush to get fetched such a solid one as that without any notice,
because how was HE going to know what was tattooed on the man? He whitened
a  little;  he  couldn't  help  it;  and it was mighty still in there, and
everybody  bending  a little forwards and gazing at him. Says I to myself,
NOW  he'll  throw  up  the sponge-there ain't no more use. Well, did he? A
body can't hardly believe it, but he didn't. I reckon he thought he'd keep
the  thing  up  till he tired them people out, so they'd thin out, and him
and  the  duke  could  break loose and get away. Anyway, he set there, and
pretty soon he begun to smile, and says:
   "Mf!  It's  a  VERY  tough question, AIN'T it! YES, sir, I k'n tell you
what's  tattooed on his breast. It's jest a small, thin, blue arrow-that's
what it is; and if you don't look clost, you can't see it. NOW what do you
say-hey?"
   Well,  I never see anything like that old blister for clean out-and-out
cheek.
   The  new  old gentleman turns brisk towards Ab Turner and his pard, and
his eye lights up like he judged he'd got the king THIS time, and says:
   "There-you've  heard  what  he  said!  Was there any such mark on Peter
Wilks' breast?"
   Both of them spoke up and says:
   "We didn't see no such mark."
   "Good!"  says  the  old gentleman. "Now, what you DID see on his breast
was  a  small  dim  P, and a B (which is an initial he dropped when he was
young),  and  a W, with dashes between them, so: P-B-W"-and he marked them
that way on a piece of paper. "Come, ain't that what you saw?"
   Both of them spoke up again, and says:
   "No, we DIDN'T. We never seen any marks at all."
   Well, everybody WAS in a state of mind now, and they sings out:
   "The  whole BILIN' of 'm 's frauds! Le's duck 'em! le's drown 'em! le's
ride  'em  on a rail!" and everybody was whooping at once, and there was a
rattling powwow. But the lawyer he jumps on the table and yells, and says:
   "Gentlemen-gentleMEN!  Hear  me  just  a word-just a SINGLE word-if you
PLEASE! There's one way yet-let's go and dig up the corpse and look."
   That took them.
   "Hooray!"  they all shouted, and was starting right off; but the lawyer
and the doctor sung out:
   "Hold  on,  hold  on!  Collar all these four men and the boy, and fetch
THEM along, too!"
   "We'll do it!" they all shouted; "and if we don't find them marks we'll
lynch the whole gang!"
   I  WAS  scared,  now, I tell you. But there warn't no getting away, you
know.  They  gripped  us all, and marched us right along, straight for the
graveyard,  which was a mile and a half down the river, and the whole town
at  our  heels,  for  we  made  noise  enough, and it was only nine in the
evening.
   As  we  went by our house I wished I hadn't sent Mary Jane out of town;
because  now  if I could tip her the wink she'd light out and save me, and
blow on our dead-beats.
   Well,  we  swarmed  along  down  the  river road, just carrying on like
wildcats;  and  to  make  it  more  scary  the sky was darking up, and the
lightning  beginning  to  wink and flitter, and the wind to shiver amongst
the leaves. This was the most awful trouble and most dangersome I ever was
in;  and I was kinder stunned; everything was going so different from what
I  had  allowed for; stead of being fixed so I could take my own time if I
wanted  to,  and see all the fun, and have Mary Jane at my back to save me
and  set  me  free  when the close-fit come, here was nothing in the world
betwixt  me  and  sudden  death but just them tattoo-marks. If they didn't
find them-
   I  couldn't  bear to think about it; and yet, somehow, I couldn't think
about  nothing else. It got darker and darker, and it was a beautiful time
to   give  the  crowd  the  slip;  but  that  big  husky  had  me  by  the
wrist-Hines-and  a  body  might  as  well  try to give Goliar the slip. He
dragged me right along, he was so excited, and I had to run to keep up.
   When  they got there they swarmed into the graveyard and washed over it
like an overflow. And when they got to the grave they found they had about
a  hundred times as many shovels as they wanted, but nobody hadn't thought
to  fetch a lantern. But they sailed into digging anyway by the flicker of
the  lightning, and sent a man to the nearest house, a half a mile off, to
borrow one.
   So  they  dug  and  dug like everything; and it got awful dark, and the
rain  started,  and  the wind swished and swushed along, and the lightning
come  brisker  and  brisker, and the thunder boomed; but them people never
took  no  notice  of it, they was so full of this business; and one minute
you  could  see  everything  and  every  face  in  that big crowd, and the
shovelfuls  of  dirt  sailing up out of the grave, and the next second the
dark wiped it all out, and you couldn't see nothing at all.
   At  last th