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

same, if he’s missed anything by it -- which I hope he hasn’t.”

 

“Well, he don’t miss any wealth by it, because he’ll get that all right; but he’s missed seeing his brother Peter die -- which he may not feel bad about, 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 one that can’t hear or talk -- 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 anyone send ‘em word?”

 

“Oh, yes; a month or two ago, when Peter was first took; because Peter said then that he felt like he weren’t going to get well this time. You see, he was pretty old, and George’s girls was too young to be much company for him, apart from Mary Jane, the red-headed one. He was kind of sad after George and his wife died, and didn’t seem to care much to live. He most truly wanted to see Harvey -- and William, too -- because he was one of them that can’t be worried about making papers for what to do with his wealth after he died. He left a letter behind for Harvey, and said he’d told in it where his money was hiding, and how he wanted the land and other things cut up so George’s girls 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 think Harvey didn’t come? Where's he live?”

 

“Oh, he lives in England -- 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 Rio de Janeiro, where my uncle lives.”

 

“It’s a pretty long trip. But it’ll be nice; wish 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. Mary Jane's one that gives herself to good works.”

 

“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 bad end. There’s Hobson, the Baptist preacher; and Lot Hovey, and Ben Rucker, and Abner Shackleford, and Levi Bell, the lawyer; and Doctor Robinson, and their wives, and the widow Bartley, and -- well, there’s a lot of them; but these are the ones that Peter was closest to, and used to write about sometimes, when he wrote home; so Harvey will know where to look for friends when he gets here.”

 

 

Well, the old man went on asking questions until he close to emptied that young man. I’ll be blamed if he didn’t ask about everybody and everything in that blessed town, and all about the Wilkses; and about Peter’s business -- which was making leather; and about George’s -- which was a carpenter; and about Harvey’s -- which was a free preacher; and so on, and so on. Then he says:

 

“What'd you want to walk all the way up to the boat for?”

 

“Because she’s a big Orleans boat, and I was afraid she mightn’t stop here. When they’re deep they won’t stop for a shout. 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 believed he left three or four thousand in gold hiding Lord knows where.”

 

“When did you say he died?”

 

“I didn’t say, but it was last night.”

 

“Funeral tomorrow, you think?”

 

“Yes, about the middle of the day.”

 

“Well, it’s all very 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. Mum used to always say that.”

 

When we reached the boat she was about finished putting things in, and pretty soon she left. The king never said nothing about getting on her, so I lost my ride, after all. When the boat was gone the king made me push up another mile in the canoe, to a place away from any houses, and then he got off and says:

 

“Now hurry back, right now, and bring the duke up here, and the new bags. And if he’s gone over to t’other side, go over there and get him. And tell him to get himself up quickly. Move along, now.”

 

I see what he was up to; but I never said nothing. When I got back with the duke we put the canoe in a good hiding place, and then they sat down on a log, and the king told him everything, just like the young man had said it -- every last word of it. And all the time he was a-doing it he tried to talk like he was from Britain; and he done it pretty well, too, for a learner. I can’t do it, and so I ain’t a-going to try to; but he really done it pretty good.

 

Then he says: “How are you on not being able to hear or talk, Bilgewater?”

 

The duke said, leave him alone for that; said he had played such a person on the stage. So then they waited for a river boat.

 

About the middle of the afternoon two little boats come along, but they didn’t come from high enough up; but at last there was a big one, and they called out to her. She sent out her small boat, and we went onto her, and she was from Cincinnati; and when they found we only wanted to go four or five mile they was shouting angry, and called us a few bad names, and said they wouldn’t land us. But the king was quiet and easy. He says:

 

“If men are happy to pay a dollar a mile each to be took on and off in your little boat, a river boat can carry ‘em, can’t it?”

 

So they went a little softer and said it was all right; and when we got to the village they sent us to the landing in their little boat. About twenty men crowded down when they see the little boat a-coming, and when the king says: “Can any of you tell me where Mr. Peter Wilks lives?”

 

They looked at each other, moving their heads, as much as to say, “What did I tell you?” Then one of them says, kind of soft and quiet: “I’m sorry. sir, but the best we can do is to tell you where he did live yesterday evening.”

 

Fast as you can wink that dirty old robber went and fell up against the man, and put his head on his shoulder, and cried down his back, and says:

 

“Oh no, oh no, our poor brother -- gone, and we never got to see him; oh, it’s too, too hard!”

 

 

Then he turns around, crying, and makes a lot of stupid signs to the duke on his hands, and I’ll be blamed if he didn’t drop a bag and break out a-crying too. If they weren’t the most low down lot, them two robbers, that ever I saw.

 

Well, the men come around and tried to make them feel better, and said a lot of kind things, and carried their bags up the hill for them, and let them lean on them and cry, and told the king all about his brother’s last days, and the king he told it all over again on his hands to the duke, and both of them took on about that dead leather maker like they’d lost the twelve disciples. Well, if ever I saw anything like it, I’m a slave. It was enough to make a body feel guilty just for being the same animal as them.

 

Chapter 25

Chapter 25

The news was all over town in two minutes, and you could see people coming 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. The windows and doors was full; and every minute someone would say, over a fence:

“Is it them?”

 

And someone running along with the gang would answer back and say: “You can be sure it is.”

 

When we got to the house the street in front of it was filled, and the three girls was standing in the door. Mary Jane was red-headed, but that don’t make no difference, she was most really beautiful, and her face and her eyes was all lighted up like glory, she was so glad her uncles was come. The king he opened his arms, and Mary Jane she jumped for them, and the youngest one jumped for the duke, and there they had it! Almost everyone, the women anyway, cried for happiness to see them meet again at last and have such good times.

 

Then the king he whispered to the duke secretly -- I seen him do it -- and then he looked around and seen the box with the body in it, 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 serious over there, everyone dropping back to give them room, and all the talk and noise stopping, people saying “Shhh!” and all the men taking their hats off and bending their heads down, so you could a heard a needle drop. And when they got there they leaned over and looked in, and took one look, and then they broke out a-crying so you could a almost heard them to Orleans; and then they put their arms around each other’s necks, and put their heads over each other’s shoulders; and then for three minutes, or maybe four, I never seen two men cry the way they done. And everyone else was doing the same; and the place was that wet I never seen anything like it.

 

 

Then one of them got on one side of the box, and t’other on t’other side, both of them down on their knees and rested their heads on the box, and let on to pray all to themselves. Well, when it come to that it worked the crowd like you never seen anything like it, and everybody broke down and went to crying right out loud -- the poor girls, too; and every woman, nearly, went up to the girls, without saying a word, and kissed them, serious like, on the front of their head, and then put their hand on their head, and looked up toward the sky, with the tears running down, and then broke up and went off crying and rubbing their eyes, and give the next woman a show. I never seen anything so sick.

 

Well, by and by the king he gets up and comes forward a little, and works himself up and gives a talk, all full of tears and foolishness about it being a sore test for him and his poor brother to lose the man, and to miss seeing the dead man alive after the long trip of four thousand mile, but it’s a test that has become sweet and wonderful to us by the love and holy tears of the people there, and so he thanks them out of his heart and out of his brother’s heart, because they can’t do it out of their mouths, words being too weak and cold, and all that kind of crazy talk, until it was just making me sick; and then he cries out a holy goody-goody Amen, and