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Chapter XXXIII.
SO I started for town in the wagon, and
when I was half-way I see a wagon coming,
and sure enough it was Tom Sawyer, and I
stopped and waited till he come along.
I says "Hold on!" and it stopped alongside,
and his mouth opened up like a trunk, and
stayed so; and he swallowed two or three
times like a person that's got a dry
throat, and then says:
"I hain't ever done you no harm.
You know that.
So, then, what you want to come back and
ha'nt ME for?"
I says:
"I hain't come back--I hain't been GONE."
When he heard my voice it righted him up
some, but he warn't quite satisfied yet.
He says:
"Don't you play nothing on me, because I
wouldn't on you.
Honest *** now, you ain't a ghost?"
"Honest ***, I ain't," I says.
"Well--I--I--well, that ought to settle it,
of course; but I can't somehow seem to
understand it no way.
Looky here, warn't you ever murdered AT
ALL?"
"No.
I warn't ever murdered at all--I played it
on them.
You come in here and feel of me if you
don't believe me."
So he done it; and it satisfied him; and he
was that glad to see me again he didn't
know what to do.
And he wanted to know all about it right
off, because it was a grand adventure, and
mysterious, and so it hit him where he
lived.
But I said, leave it alone till by and by;
and told his driver to wait, and we drove
off a little piece, and I told him the kind
of a fix I was in, and what did he reckon
we better do?
He said, let him alone a minute, and don't
disturb him.
So he thought and thought, and pretty soon
he says:
"It's all right; I've got it.
Take my trunk in your wagon, and let on
it's your'n; and you turn back and fool
along slow, so as to get to the house about
the time you ought to; and I'll go towards
town a piece, and take a fresh start, and
get there a quarter or a half an hour after
you; and you needn't let on to know me at
first."
I says:
"All right; but wait a minute.
There's one more thing--a thing that NOBODY
don't know but me.
And that is, there's a *** here that I'm
a-trying to steal out of slavery, and his
name is JIM--old Miss Watson's Jim."
He says:
"What!
Why, Jim is--"
He stopped and went to studying.
I says:
"I know what you'll say.
You'll say it's dirty, low-down business;
but what if it is?
I'm low down; and I'm a-going to steal him,
and I want you keep mum and not let on.
Will you?"
His eye lit up, and he says:
"I'll HELP you steal him!"
Well, I let go all holts then, like I was
shot.
It was the most astonishing speech I ever
heard--and I'm bound to say Tom Sawyer fell
considerable in my estimation.
Only I couldn't believe it.
Tom Sawyer a ***-STEALER!
"Oh, shucks!"
I says; "you're joking."
"I ain't joking, either."
"Well, then," I says, "joking or no joking,
if you hear anything said about a runaway
***, don't forget to remember that YOU
don't know nothing about him, and I don't
know nothing about him."
Then we took the trunk and put it in my
wagon, and he drove off his way and I drove
mine.
But of course I forgot all about driving
slow on accounts of being glad and full of
thinking; so I got home a heap too quick
for that length of a trip.
The old gentleman was at the door, and he
says:
"Why, this is wonderful!
Whoever would a thought it was in that mare
to do it?
I wish we'd a timed her.
And she hain't sweated a hair--not a hair.
It's wonderful.
Why, I wouldn't take a hundred dollars for
that horse now--I wouldn't, honest; and yet
I'd a sold her for fifteen before, and
thought 'twas all she was worth."
That's all he said.
He was the innocentest, best old soul I
ever see.
But it warn't surprising; because he warn't
only just a farmer, he was a preacher, too,
and had a little one-horse log church down
back of the plantation, which he built it
himself at his own expense, for a church
and schoolhouse, and never charged nothing
for his preaching, and it was worth it,
too.
There was plenty other farmer-preachers
like that, and done the same way, down
South.
In about half an hour Tom's wagon drove up
to the front stile, and Aunt Sally she see
it through the window, because it was only
about fifty yards, and says:
"Why, there's somebody come!
I wonder who 'tis?
Why, I do believe it's a stranger.
Jimmy" (that's one of the children) "run
and tell Lize to put on another plate for
dinner."
Everybody made a rush for the front door,
because, of course, a stranger don't come
EVERY year, and so he lays over the yaller-
fever, for interest, when he does come.
Tom was over the stile and starting for the
house; the wagon was spinning up the road
for the village, and we was all bunched in
the front door.
Tom had his store clothes on, and an
audience--and that was always nuts for Tom
In them circumstances it warn't no trouble
to him to throw in an amount of style that
was suitable.
He warn't a boy to meeky along up that yard
like a sheep; no, he come ca'm and
important, like the ram.
When he got a-front of us he lifts his hat
ever so gracious and dainty, like it was
the lid of a box that had butterflies
asleep in it and he didn't want to disturb
them, and says:
"Mr.
Archibald Nichols, I presume?"
"No, my boy," says the old gentleman, "I'm
sorry to say 't your driver has deceived
you; Nichols's place is down a matter of
three mile more.
Come in, come in."
Tom he took a look back over his shoulder,
and says, "Too late--he's out of sight."
"Yes, he's gone, my son, and you must come
in and eat your dinner with us; and then
we'll hitch up and take you down to
Nichols's."
"Oh, I CAN'T make you so much trouble; I
couldn't think of it.
I'll walk --I don't mind the distance."
"But we won't LET you walk--it wouldn't be
Southern hospitality to do it.
Come right in."
"Oh, DO," says Aunt Sally; "it ain't a bit
of trouble to us, not a bit in the world.
You must stay.
It's a long, dusty three mile, and we can't
let you walk.
And, besides, I've already told 'em to put
on another plate when I see you coming; so
you mustn't disappoint us.
Come right in and make yourself at home."
So Tom he thanked them very hearty and
handsome, and let himself be persuaded, and
come in; and when he was in he said he was
a stranger from Hicksville, Ohio, and his
name was William Thompson--and he made
another bow.
Well, he run on, and on, and on, making up
stuff about Hicksville and everybody in it
he could invent, and I getting a little
nervious, and wondering how this was going
to help me out of my scrape; and at last,
still talking along, he reached over and
kissed Aunt Sally right on the mouth, and
then settled back again in his chair
comfortable, and was going on talking; but
she jumped up and wiped it off with the
back of her hand, and says:
"You owdacious puppy!"
He looked kind of hurt, and says:
"I'm surprised at you, m'am."
"You're s'rp--Why, what do you reckon I am?
I've a good notion to take and--Say, what
do you mean by kissing me?"
He looked kind of humble, and says:
"I didn't mean nothing, m'am.
I didn't mean no harm.
I--I--thought you'd like it."
"Why, you born fool!"
She took up the spinning stick, and it
looked like it was all she could do to keep
from giving him a crack with it.
"What made you think I'd like it?"
"Well, I don't know.
Only, they--they--told me you would."
"THEY told you I would.
Whoever told you's ANOTHER lunatic.
I never heard the beat of it.
Who's THEY?"
"Why, everybody.
They all said so, m'am."
It was all she could do to hold in; and her
eyes snapped, and her fingers worked like
she wanted to scratch him; and she says:
"Who's 'everybody'?
Out with their names, or ther'll be an
idiot short."
He got up and looked distressed, and
fumbled his hat, and says:
"I'm sorry, and I warn't expecting it.
They told me to.
They all told me to.
They all said, kiss her; and said she'd
like it.
They all said it--every one of them.
But I'm sorry, m'am, and I won't do it no
more --I won't, honest."
"You won't, won't you?
Well, I sh'd RECKON you won't!"
"No'm, I'm honest about it; I won't ever do
it again--till you ask me."
"Till I ASK you!
Well, I never see the beat of it in my born
days!
I lay you'll be the Methusalem-numskull of
creation before ever I ask you --or the
likes of you."
"Well," he says, "it does surprise me so.
I can't make it out, somehow.
They said you would, and I thought you
would.
But--" He stopped and looked around slow,
like he wished he could run across a
friendly eye somewheres, and fetched up on
the old gentleman's, and says, "Didn't YOU
think she'd like me to kiss her, sir?"
"Why, no; I--I--well, no, I b'lieve I
didn't."
Then he looks on around the same way to me,
and says:
"Tom, didn't YOU think Aunt Sally 'd open
out her arms and say, 'Sid Sawyer--'"
"My land!" she says, breaking in and
jumping for him, "you impudent young
rascal, to fool a body so--" and was going
to hug him, but he fended her off, and
"No, not till you've asked me first."
So she didn't lose no time, but asked him;
and hugged him and kissed him over and over
again, and then turned him over to the old
man, and he took what was left.
And after they got a little quiet again she
says:
"Why, dear me, I never see such a surprise.
We warn't looking for YOU at all, but only
Tom.
Sis never wrote to me about anybody coming
but him."
"It's because it warn't INTENDED for any of
us to come but Tom," he says; "but I begged
and begged, and at the last minute she let
me come, too; so, coming down the river, me
and Tom thought it would be a first-rate
surprise for him to come here to the house
first, and for me to by and by tag along
and drop in, and let on to be a stranger.
But it was a mistake, Aunt Sally.
This ain't no healthy place for a stranger
to come."
"No--not impudent whelps, Sid.
You ought to had your jaws boxed; I hain't
been so put out since I don't know when.
But I don't care, I don't mind the terms--
I'd be willing to stand a thousand such
jokes to have you here.
Well, to think of that performance!
I don't deny it, I was most putrified with
astonishment when you give me that smack."
We had dinner out in that broad open
passage betwixt the house and the kitchen;
and there was things enough on that table
for seven families --and all hot, too; none
of your flabby, tough meat that's laid in a
cupboard in a damp cellar all night and
tastes like a hunk of old cold cannibal in
the morning.
Uncle Silas he asked a pretty long blessing
over it, but it was worth it; and it didn't
cool it a bit, neither, the way I've seen
them kind of interruptions do lots of
times.
There was a considerable good deal of talk
all the afternoon, and me and Tom was on
the lookout all the time; but it warn't no
use, they didn't happen to say nothing
about any runaway ***, and we was afraid
to try to work up to it.
But at supper, at night, one of the little
boys says:
"Pa, mayn't Tom and Sid and me go to the
show?"
"No," says the old man, "I reckon there
ain't going to be any; and you couldn't go
if there was; because the runaway ***
told Burton and me all about that
scandalous show, and Burton said he would
tell the people; so I reckon they've drove
the owdacious loafers out of town before
this time."
So there it was!--but I couldn't help it.
Tom and me was to sleep in the same room
and bed; so, being tired, we bid good-night
and went up to bed right after supper, and
clumb out of the window and down the
lightning-rod, and shoved for the town; for
I didn't believe anybody was going to give
the king and the duke a hint, and so if I
didn't hurry up and give them one they'd
get into trouble sure.
On the road Tom he told me all about how it
was reckoned I was murdered, and how pap
disappeared pretty soon, and didn't come
back no more, and what a stir there was
when Jim run away; and I told Tom all about
our Royal Nonesuch rapscallions, and as
much of the raft voyage as I had time to;
and as we struck into the town and up
through the middle of it--it was as much as
half-after eight, then--here comes a raging
rush of people with torches, and an awful
whooping and yelling, and banging tin pans
and blowing horns; and we jumped to one
side to let them go by; and as they went by
I see they had the king and the duke
astraddle of a rail--that is, I knowed it
WAS the king and the duke, though they was
all over tar and feathers, and didn't look
like nothing in the world that was human--
just looked like a couple of monstrous big
soldier- plumes.
Well, it made me sick to see it; and I was
sorry for them poor pitiful rascals, it
seemed like I couldn't ever feel any
hardness against them any more in the
world.
It was a dreadful thing to see.
Human beings CAN be awful cruel to one
another.
We see we was too late--couldn't do no
good.
We asked some stragglers about it, and they
said everybody went to the show looking
very innocent; and laid low and kept dark
till the poor old king was in the middle of
his cavortings on the stage; then somebody
give a signal, and the house rose up and
went for them.
So we poked along back home, and I warn't
feeling so brash as I was before, but kind
of ornery, and humble, and to blame,
somehow--though I hadn't done nothing.
But that's always the way; it don't make no
difference whether you do right or wrong, a
person's conscience ain't got no sense, and
just goes for him anyway.
If I had a yaller dog that didn't know no
more than a person's conscience does I
would pison him.
It takes up more room than all the rest of
a person's insides, and yet ain't no good,
nohow.
Tom Sawyer he says the same.