by Mark Twain
CHAPTER XXVIII.
BY and by it was getting-up time. So I come down the ladder and startedfor down-stairs; but as I come to the girls' room the door was open, andI see Mary Jane setting by her old hair trunk, which was open and she'dbeen packing things in it--getting ready to go to England. But she hadstopped 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 inthere 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 saidthe beautiful trip to England was most about spoiled for her; she didn'tknow HOW she was ever going to be happy there, knowing the mother and thechildren warn't ever going to see each other no more--and then busted outbitterer than ever, and flung up her hands, and says:
"Oh, dear, dear, to think they ain't EVER going to see each other anymore!"
"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 shethrows 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 impatientand excited and handsome, but looking kind of happy and eased-up, like aperson that's had a tooth pulled out. So I went to studying it out. Isays to myself, I reckon a body that ups and tells the truth when he isin a tight place is taking considerable many resks, though I ain't had noexperience, and can't say for certain; but it looks so to me, anyway; andyet here's a case where I'm blest if it don't look to me like the truthis better and actuly SAFER than a lie. I must lay it by in my mind, andthink 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-goingto chance it; I'll up and tell the truth this time, though it does seemmost like setting down on a kag of powder and touching it off just to seewhere you'll go to. Then I says:
"Miss Mary Jane, is there any place out of town a little ways where youcould 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 seeeach other again inside of two weeks--here in this house--and PROVE how Iknow 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 yourword--I druther have it than another man's kiss-the-Bible." She smiledand reddened up very sweet, and I says, "If you don't mind it, I'll shutthe 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 tellthe 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. Theseuncles 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 standthe rest middling easy."
It jolted her up like everything, of course; but I was over the shoalwater now, so I went right along, her eyes a-blazing higher and higherall the time, and told her every blame thing, from where we first struckthat young fool going up to the steamboat, clear through to where sheflung herself on to the king's breast at the front door and he kissed hersixteen or seventeen times--and then up she jumps, with her face afirelike sunset, and says:
"The brute! Come, don't waste a minute--not a SECOND--we'll have themtarred 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 downagain. "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 woulddie 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 sayI'll do it."
"Well," I says, "it's a rough gang, them two frauds, and I'm fixed so Igot to travel with them a while longer, whether I want to or not--Idruther not tell you why; and if you was to blow on them this town wouldget me out of their claws, and I'd be all right; but there'd be anotherperson that you don't know about who'd be in big trouble. Well, we gotto 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 couldget 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 aboardto answer questions but me; so I didn't want the plan to begin workingtill pretty late to-night. I says:
"Miss Mary Jane, I'll tell you what we'll do, and you won't have to stayat 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 tillnine 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 puta candle in this window, and if I don't turn up wait TILL eleven, andTHEN 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 beatsjailed."
"Good," she says, "I'll do it."
"And if it just happens so that I don't get away, but get took up alongwith them, you must up and say I told you the whole thing beforehand, andyou 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 saidit, too.
"If I get away I sha'n't be here," I says, "to prove these rapscallionsain't your uncles, and I couldn't do it if I WAS here. I could swearthey 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'repeople that ain't going to be doubted as quick as I'd be. I'll tell youhow to find them. Gimme a pencil and a piece of paper. There--'RoyalNonesuch, Bricksville.' Put it away, and don't lose it. When the courtwants to find out something about these two, let them send up toBricksville 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 herebefore 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 haveto pay for the things they buy till a whole day after the auction onaccounts of the short notice, and they ain't going out of this till theyget 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 withthe niggers--it warn't no sale, and the niggers will be back beforelong. Why, they can't collect the money for the NIGGERS yet--they're inthe worst kind of a fix, Miss Mary."
"Well," she says, "I'll run down to breakfast now, and then I'll startstraight for Mr. Lothrop's."
"'Deed, THAT ain't the ticket, Miss Mary Jane," I says, "by no manner ofmeans; 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 leather-face people. I don'twant no better book than what your face is. A body can set down and readit off like coarse print. Do you reckon you can go and face your uncleswhen they come to kiss you good-morning, 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. Theymight suspicion something if all of you was to go. I don't want you tosee them, nor your sisters, nor nobody in this town; if a neighbo
r was toask 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 wentaway for a few hours for to get a little rest and change, or to see afriend, 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 tothem."
"Well, then, it sha'n't be." It was well enough to tell HER so--no harmin it. It was only a little thing to do, and no trouble; and it's thelittle things that smooths people's roads the most, down here below; itwould make Mary Jane comfortable, and it wouldn't cost nothing. Then Isays: "There's one more thing--that bag of money."
"Well, they've got that; and it makes me feel pretty silly to think HOWthey 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 afraidit ain't there no more. I'm awful sorry, Miss Mary Jane, I'm just assorry as I can be; but I done the best I could; I did honest. I comenigh getting caught, and I had to shove it into the first place I cometo, 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 Icouldn't seem to get my mouth to tell her what would make her see thatcorpse laying in the coffin with that bag of money on his stomach. Sofor 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'tmind letting me off; but I'll write it for you on a piece of paper, andyou can read it along the road to Mr. Lothrop's, if you want to. Do youreckon that 'll do?"
"Oh, yes."
So I wrote: "I put it in the coffin. It was in there when you wascrying there, away in the night. I was behind the door, and I was mightysorry for you, Miss Mary Jane."
It made my eyes water a little to remember her crying there all byherself in the night, and them devils laying there right under her ownroof, shaming her and robbing her; and when I folded it up and give it toher I see the water come into her eyes, too; and she shook me by thehand, hard, and says:
"GOOD-bye. I'm going to do everything just as you've told me; and if Idon't ever see you again, I sha'n't ever forget you and I'll think ofyou a many and a many a time, and I'll PRAY for you, too!"--and she wasgone.
Pray for me! I reckoned if she knowed me she'd take a job that was morenearer her size. But I bet she done it, just the same--she was just thatkind. She had the grit to pray for Judus if she took the notion--therewarn't no back-down to her, I judge. You may say what you want to, butin my opinion she had more sand in her than any girl I ever see; in myopinion she was just full of sand. It sounds like flattery, but it ain'tno flattery. And when it comes to beauty--and goodness, too--she laysover them all. I hain't ever seen her since that time that I see her goout of that door; no, I hain't ever seen her since, but I reckon I'vethought of her a many and a many a million times, and of her saying shewould pray for me; and if ever I'd a thought it would do any good for meto 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 seeher 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 thatyou 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 shetold me to tell you she's gone over there in a dreadful hurry--one ofthem'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 Janesaid, 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. Thesemumps 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, andyaller 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 takepison, and fall down the well, and break his neck, and bust his brainsout, and somebody come along and ask what killed him, and some numskullup 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'tyou? And you can't get away with that tooth without fetching the wholeharrow 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 toget it hitched on good."
"Well, it's awful, I think," says the hare-lip. "I'll go to Uncle Harveyand--"
"Oh, yes," I says, "I WOULD. Of COURSE I would. I wouldn't lose notime."
"Well, why wouldn't you?"
"Just look at it a minute, and maybe you can see. Hain't your unclesobleegd to get along home to England as fast as they can? And do youreckon they'd be mean enough to go off and leave you to go all thatjourney 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 PREACHERgoing 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 heain't. What WILL he do, then? Why, he'll say, 'It's a great pity, butmy church matters has got to get along the best way they can; for myniece has been exposed to the dreadful pluribus-unum mumps, and so it'smy bounden duty to set down here and wait the three months it takes toshow on her if she's got it.' But never mind, if you think it's best totell your uncle Harvey--"
"Shucks, and stay fooling around here when we could all be having goodtimes in England whilst we was waiting to find out whether Mary Jane'sgot 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 youSEE that THEY'D go and tell? Ther' ain't no way but just to not tellanybody 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 togive Uncle Harvey and William my love and a kiss, and say I've run overthe river to see Mr.'--Mr.--what IS the name of that rich family youruncle 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 rememberthem, half the time, somehow. Yes, she said, say she has run over for toask 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 anybodyels
e; and she's going to stick to them till they say they'll come, andthen, if she ain't too tired, she's coming home; and if she is, she'll behome in the morning anyway. She said, don't say nothing about theProctors, but only about the Apthorps--which 'll be perfectly true,because she is going there to speak about their buying the house; I knowit, because she told me so herself."
"All right," they said, and cleared out to lay for their uncles, and givethem the love and the kisses, and tell them the message.
Everything was all right now. The girls wouldn't say nothing becausethey wanted to go to England; and the king and the duke would ruther MaryJane was off working for the auction than around in reach of DoctorRobinson. I felt very good; I judged I had done it pretty neat--Ireckoned Tom Sawyer couldn't a done it no neater himself. Of course hewould a throwed more style into it, but I can't do that very handy, notbeing brung up to it.
Well, they held the auction in the public square, along towards the endof the afternoon, and it strung along, and strung along, and the old manhe was on hand and looking his level pisonest, up there longside of theauctioneer, and chipping in a little Scripture now and then, or a littlegoody-goody saying of some kind, and the duke he was around goo-gooingfor 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 gotto work that off--I never see such a girafft as the king was for wantingto swallow EVERYTHING. Well, whilst they was at it a steamboat landed,and in about two minutes up comes a crowd a-whooping and yelling andlaughing and carrying on, and singing out:
"HERE'S your opposition line! here's your two sets o' heirs to old PeterWilks--and you pays your money and you takes your choice!"