Huckleberry Finn - Dave Mckay, Mark Twain (reading books for 7 year olds TXT) 📗

-- the duke called himself Richard III; and the way they ran and jumped around the raft was great to see. But by and by the king fell off the raft, and after that they took a rest, and had a talk about all kinds of adventures they’d had in other times along the river.

 

After dinner the duke says: “Well, King, we’ll want to make this a top drawer show, you know, so I think we’ll add a little more to it. We want a little something to do at the end if they ask for more. I’ll do a dance from Scotland or one that men do on ocean ships; and you -- well, let me see -- oh, I’ve got it -- you can do something from Hamlet; the most well known thing that Shakespeare ever wrote. Ah, it’s perfect, perfect! Always brings the house down. I don’t have it in my book -- I only have the one -- but I think I can piece it out from what I can remember. I’ll just walk up and down a minute, and see if I can call it back from inside my head.”

 

So he went to walking up and down, thinking, and making an awful sad face every now and then; then he would lift up his eyebrows; next he would squeeze his hand on the front of his head and take a step back and kind of moan; next he would breathe deeply, and then he’d let on to drop a tear. It was beautiful to see him. By and by he got it. He told us to listen. Then he stands himself in the most wonderful way, with one leg pushed forward, and his arms reaching away up, and his head leaning back, looking up at the sky; and then he starts to talk and shout and squeeze his teeth together; and after that, all through his speaking, he cried, and moved around, and pushed out his chest, and just knocked the spots out of any acting ever I seen before.

 

Well, the old man he liked that piece, and he mighty soon got it so he could do it real well. It seemed like he was just born for it; and when he had his hand in and was getting to feel it strongly, it was real nice the way he would shout and cry when he was getting it off.

 

The first time we was able the duke he had some papers printed; and after that, for two or three days as we went along down the river, the raft was full of action, for there weren’t nothing but sword fighting and saying their lines going on all the time. One morning, when we was pretty well down the bottom of Arkansas, we could see a little one-horse town in a big bend; so we tied up almost a mile above it, in the mouth of a shallow little side river which was covered over by willows like it was a cave. All of us but Jim took the canoe and went down there to see if it would be a good place for our show.

 

We was mighty lucky; there was going to be a circus there that afternoon, and the country people was already starting to come in, in all kinds of old wagons, and on horses. The circus would leave before night, so our show would have a pretty good crowd. The duke he rented the court house, and we went around and put up our advertisements. They read like this:

 

Shakspeare Comes Alive ! ! !

Wonderful Show! For One Night Only!

Two of the world’s best actors,

 

David Garrick the Younger,

of Drury Lane Theatre London,

and

Edmund Kean the Older,

of the King’s Haymarket Theatre,

Whitechapel, Pudding Lane,

Piccadilly, London,

in their wonderful show of

the best of Shakspeare,

being a scene from

 

Romeo and Juliet ! ! !

Romeo...................Mr. Garrick

Juliet..................Mr. Kean

New uniforms, new scenes, new showings! Also:

The emotion filled, expert, and dangerous

Sword fight from Richard III ! ! !

Richard III.............Mr. Garrick

Richmond................Mr. Kean

Also:

(by special request)

Hamlet’s Best Lines ! !

By The wonderful Kean!

 

Done by him over 300 nights in Paris!

For One Night Only,

Because of important showings in Europe!

Adults 25 cents; children and servants, 10 cents.

 

Then we went walking around town. The shops and houses was most all old, rough, dried up timber buildings that hadn’t ever been painted; they was set up three or four foot above ground on legs, so as to be out of reach of the water when the river was flooded. The houses had little gardens around them, but they didn’t seem to grow hardly anything in them but weeds, and sunflowers, and ashes, and old broken shoes, and pieces of bottles, and thrown out clothes, and empty tins. The fences was made of different kinds of boards, nailed on at different times; and they leaned every which way, and had gates that often didn’t have but one piece of leather for a hinge. Some of the fences had been white-washed some time or another, but the duke said it was in Columbus’ time, like enough. There was often pigs in the garden, and people running them out.

 

All the shops was along one street. They had a white roof over the footpath, and the country people tied their horses to the vertical logs holding the roof up. There was empty barrels under the roof, and people sitting on them all day long, cutting sticks with their knives; and chewing tobacco, and making sleepy faces -- a mighty rough group. Most of them had on yellow grass hats almost as wide as an umbrella, but didn’t wear no coats. They called one another Bill, and Buck, and Hank, and Joe, and Andy, and talked lazy and slow, and used a lot of bad words. There was as many as one lazy person leaning up against each log holding up the roof, and he most always had his hands in his pants pockets, apart from when he brought them out to get a piece of tobacco or to scratch. What a body was hearing between them all the time was:

 

“Give me a chew of tobacco, Hank.“

 

“Can’t; I ain’t got but one chew left. Ask Bill.”

 

 

Maybe Bill he gives him a chew; maybe he lies and says he ain’t got none. Some of them do-nothing boys never has a cent in the world, or a chew of tobacco of their own. They get all their chewing by borrowing; they say to a friend, “I wish you’d borrow me a chew, Jack, I just this minute give Ben Thompson the last one I had” -- which is a lie pretty much every time; it don’t trick nobody but a stranger; but Jack ain’t no stranger, so he says:

 

“You give him a chew, did you? So did your sister’s cat’s grandmother. You pay me back the chews you’ve already borrowed off a me, Lafe Buckner, then I’ll let you have one or two wagons full of it, and won’t ask you for no back interest, either.”

 

“Well, I did pay you back some of it once.”

 

“Yes, you did -- about six chews. You borrowed shop tobacco and paid back home made.”

 

Shop tobacco is flat black, but these boys mostly chews the leaves coiled up. When they borrow a chew they don’t as a rule cut it off with a knife, but put the whole piece in between their teeth, and bite with their teeth and pull at it with their hands until they get it in two; then sometimes the one that owns the tobacco looks sadly at it when it’s handed back, and says:

 

“Here, give me the chew, and you take what’s left.”

 

All the streets and lanes was just mud; they weren’t nothing else but mud -- mud as black as tar and close to a foot deep in some places. The pigs was walking and lying around wherever you looked. You’d see a dirty old mother pig and a lot of little ones come lazying along the street and drop right down in the way, where people had to walk around her, and she’d lie there and shut her eyes and move her ears while the babies was milking her, and look as happy as if she was being paid for it. Pretty soon you’d hear one of the lazy boys sing out, “Go get her Tiger! Get that pig!” and away the pig would go, making a most awful noise, with a dog on each ear, and more a-coming; and then you would see all the do-nothings get up and watch until they couldn’t see it no more, and laugh and look like they was thankful for the noise. Then they’d sit down again until there was a dog fight. There couldn’t anything wake them up and make them happy all over like a dog fight -- apart from maybe tying a tin pan to a dog's tail and seeing him run himself to death.

 

On the river front some of the houses were half out over the river, and they was leaning and bending, and about ready to fall in. People had moved out of them. The side of the river was broken away under only one corner of others, with that corner hanging over, and people lived in them yet. It was dangerous, because at times a piece of land as wide as a house breaks off and falls in. Sometimes a belt of land four hundred yards deep will start in and break along and break along until it all ends up in the river in one summer. Such a town as that has to be always moving back, and back, because the river’s always chewing at it.

 

The closer it got to noon the thicker was the wagons and horses in the streets, and more coming all the time. Families brought their dinners with them from the country, and eat them in the wagons. There was a lot of whiskey drinking going on, and I seen three fights.

 

By and by someone sings out: “Here comes old Boggs! -- in from the country for his monthly drunk; here he comes, boys!” All the do-nothings looked glad; I’d say they was used to having fun out of Boggs. One of them says: “Who is he a-gwyne to chew up this time. If he’d a-chewed up all the men he’s been a-gwyne to chew up in the last twenty years he’d be very well known by now.”

 

Another one says, “I wish Boggs'd say he was gwyne to fight me; then I’d know I weren’t gwyne to die for a thousand years.”

 

Boggs come a-racing along on his horse, shouting like an Indian, and singing out: “Clear the way, there. I’m angry, and the price of a funeral is a-gwyne to go up.”

 

 

He was drunk, and leaning over in his saddle; he was over fifty year old, and had a very red face. Everyone shouted at him and laughed at him and he shouted back, and said he’d fix them and lay them out in turns, but he couldn’t wait now because he’d come to town to kill old Sherburn, and his saying was, “Meat first, and spoon food to top off on.”

 

He sees me, and rides up and says: “Where’d you come from, boy? You prepared to die?”

 

Then he went on.

 

I was scared, but a man says: “He don’t mean nothing; he’s always a-carrying on like that when he’s drunk. He’s the nicest old man in Arkansas -- never hurt nobody, drunk or not.”

 

Boggs stopped in front of the biggest shop in town, and leaned his head down so he could see under the footpath roof and shouts: “Come out here, Sherburn! Come out and meet the man you’ve robbed. You’re the dog I’m after. I’m a-gwyne to have you, too!”

 

And so he went on, calling Sherburn everything he could put his tongue on, and the whole street filled with people listening and laughing and going on. By and by a proud-looking man about fifty-five -- and he was by far the best dressed man in town, too -- steps out of the shop, and the crowd drops back on each side to let him come. He says to Boggs, very quiet and slow -- he says: “I’m tired of this, but I’ll put up with it until one o’clock. Until one o’clock, remember -- no longer. If you open your mouth against me only once after that time you can’t travel so far but I will find you.”

 

Then he turns and goes in. The crowd looked pretty serious; nobody moved, and there weren’t no more laughing. Boggs went off saying bad things about Sherburn as loud as he could, all down the street; and pretty soon back he comes and stops before the shop, still keeping it up. Some men crowded around and tried to get him to shut up, but he wouldn’t; they told him it would be one o’clock in about fifteen minutes, and so he must go home -- he must go right away. But it didn’t do no good. He shouted away with all his strength, and throwed his hat down in the