Dictionaries & Language/Dictionaries and Language (Chestnut CD-ROM) (1993).iso/word_p/rp/sawyer

Text File | 1988-03-26 | 12.6 KB | 258 lines

⌠From "Tom Sawyer" by Mark Twain (Samuel Clemmons)⌡

TOM!
No answer.
Tom!
No answer.
What's gone with that boy, I wonder? You Tom!
The old lady pulled her spectacles down and looked over them
about the room; then she put them up and looked out under them.
She seldom or never looked through them for so small a thing as
a boy, for they were her state pair, the pride of her heart, and
were built for style, not service; she could have seen through a
pair of stove-lids as well. She looked perplexed a moment and
said, not fiercely, but still loud enough for the furniture to
hear: Well, I lay if I get hold of you, I'll
She did not finish, for by this time she was bending down and
punching under the bed with the broom  and so she needed breath
to punctuate the punches with. She resurrected nothing but the cat.
I never did see the beat of that boy!
She went to the open door and stood in it, and looked out among
the tomato vines and jimpson weeds that constituted the garden.
No Tom. So she lifted up her voice at an angle calculated for
distance, and shouted:
Y-o-u-u Tom!
There was a slight noise behind her, and she turned just in time
to seize a small boy by the slack of his roundabout and arrest
his flight. There! I might a though of that closet. What you
been doing in there?
Nothing.
Nothing! Look at your hands, and look at your mouth. What is
that truck?
I don't know, Aunt.
Well, I know. It's jam, that's what it is. Forty times I've said
if you didn't let the jam alone I'd skin you. Hand me that switch.
The switch hovered in the air. The peril was desperate.
My! Look behind you, Aunt!
The old lady whirled round, and snatched her skirts out of
danger, and the lad fled on the instant, scrambled up the high
board-fence, and disappeared over it. His Aunt Polly stood
surprised a moment, and then broke into a gentle laugh.
Hang the boy, can't I never learn anything? Ain't he played me
tricks enough like that for me to be looking out for him by this
time? But old fools is the biggest fools there is. Can't learn
any old dog new tricks, as the saying is. But, my goodness, he
never plays them alike two days, and how is a body to know
what's coming? He pears to know just how long he can torment me
before I get my dander up, and he knows if he can make out to
put me off for a minute or make me laugh, it's all down again,
and I can't hit him a lick. I ain't doing my duty by that boy,
and that's the Lord's truth, goodness knows. Spare the rod and
spile the child, as the good book says. I'm a-laying up sin and
suffering for us both, I know. He's full of the old scratch, but
laws-a-me! he's my own dead sister's boy, poor thing, and I
ain't got the heart to lash him, somehow. Every time I let him
off my conscience does hurt me so; and every time I hit him my
old heart most breaks. Well-a-well, man that is born of a woman
is of few days and full of trouble, as the Scripture says, and I
reckon it's so. He'll play hookey this evening, and I'll just be
obliged to make him work to-morrow, to punish him. It's mighty
hard to make him work Saturdays, when all the boys is having a
holiday, but he hates work more than he hates anything else, and
I've got to do some of my duty by him, or I'll be the ruination
of the child.
Tom did play hookey, and he had a very good time. He got back
home barely in season to help Jim, the small coloured boy, saw
next day's wood, and split the kindlings before supper - at
least he was there in time to tell his adventures to Jim while
Jim did three-fourths of the work. Tom's younger brother (or
rather, half-brother) Sid was already through with his part of
the work (picking up chips), for he was a quiet boy, and had no
adventurous, troublesome ways. While Tom was eating his supper
and stealing sugar as opportunity offered, Aunt Polly asked him
questions that were full of guile, and very deep - for she
wanted to trap him into damaging revealments. Like many other
simple-hearted souls, it was her pet vanity to believe she was
endowed with a talent for dark and mysterious diplomacy, and
she loved to contemplate her most transparent devices as marvels
of low cunning. Said she: Tom, it was middling warm in school,
warn't it?
Yes 'm'.
Powerful warm, warn't it?
Yes 'm'.
Didn't you want to go in a-swimming, Tom?
A bit of a scare shot through Tom - a touch of uncomfortable
suspicion. He searched Aunt Polly's face, but it told him
nothing. So he said:
No 'm' - well, not very much.
The old lady reached out her hand and felt Tom's shirt, and said:
But you ain't too warm now, though.
And it flattered her to reflect that she had discovered that the
shirt was dry without anybody knowing that that was what she had
in her mind. But in spite of her, Tom knew where the wind lay
now. So he forestalled what might be the next move.
Some of us pumped on our heads - mine's damp yet. See?
Aunt Polly was vexed to think she had overlooked that bit of
circumstantial evidence, and missed a trick. Then she had a new inspiration:
Tom, you didn't have to undo your shirt collar where I sewed it
to pump on your head, did you? Unbutton your jacket!
The trouble vanished out of Tom's face. He opened his jacket.
His shirt collar was securely sewed.
Bother! Well, go 'long with you. I made sure you'd played hookey
and been a-swimming. But I forgive ye, Tom. I reckon you're a
kind of a singed cat, as the saying is - better 'n you look -
this time.
She was half sorry her sagacity had miscarried, and half glad
that Thom had stumbled into obedient conduct for once.
But Sidney said:
Well, now, if I didn't think you sewed his collar with white
thread, but it's black.
Why, I did sew it with white! Tom!
But Tom did not wait for the rest. As he went out of the door,
he said:
Siddy, I'll lick you for that.
In a safe place Tom examined two large needles which were thrust
into the lapels of his jacket - and had thread bound about them
- one needle carried white thread and the other black. He said:
She'd never notived if it hadn't been for Sid. Confound it,
sometimes she sews it with white, and sometimes she sews it with
black. I wish to geeminy she'd stick to one or t'other - I can't
keep the run of 'em. But I bet you I'll lam Sid for that. If I
don't, blame my cats.
He was not the model boy of the village. He knew the model boy
very well though - and loathed him.
Within two minutes, or even less, he had forgotten all his
troubles. Not because his troubles were one whit less heavy and
bitter to him than a man's are to a man, but because a new and
powerful interest bore them down and drove them out of his mind
for the time - just as men's misfortunes are forgotten in the
excitement of new enterprises. This new interest was a valued
novelty in whistling, which he had just acquired from a negro,
and he was suffering to practise it undisturbed. It consisted in
a peculiar bird-like turn, a sort of liquid warble, produced by
touching the tongue to the roof of the mouth at short intervals
in the midst of the music. The reader probably remembers how to
do it if he has ever been a boy. Diligence and attention soon
gave him the knack of it, and he strode down the street with his
mouth full of harmony and his soul full of gratitude. He felt
much as an astronomer feels who has discovered a new planet. No
doubt, as far as strong, deep, unalloyed pleasure is concerned,
the advantage was with the boy, not the astronomer.
The summer evenings were long. It was not dark yet. Presently
Tom checked his whistle. A stranger was before him - a boy a
shade larger than himself. A newcomer of any age or either sex
was an impressive curiosity in the poor little village of St
Petersburg. This boy was well dressed too - well dressed on a
week-day. This was simply astounding. His cap was a dainty
thing, his close-buttoned blue cloth roundabout was new and
natty, and so were his pantaloons. He had shoes on - and yet it
was only Friday. He even wore a necktie, a bright bit of ribbon.
He had a citified air about him that ate into Tom's vitals. The
more Tom stared at the splendid marvel, the higher he turned up
his nose at hif finery, and the shabbier and shabbier his own
outfit seemed to him to grow. Neither boy spoke. If one moved,
the other moved - but only sidewise, in a circle. They kept face
to face and eye to eye all the time. Finally, Tom said:
I can lick you!
I'd like to see you try it.
Well, I can do it.
No, you can't, either.
Yes, I can,
No, you can't.
I can.
You can't.
Can.
Can't.
An uncomfortable pause. Then Tom said:
What's your name?
Tisn't any of your business, maybe.
Well, I 'low I'll make it my business.
Well, why don't you?
If you say much I will.
Much - much - much! There, now.
Oh, you think youäre mighty smart, don't you? I could lick you
with one hand tied behind me, if I wanted to.
Well, why don't you do it! You say you can do it.
Well, I will, if you fool with me.
Oh, yes - I've seen whole families in the same fix.
Smarty! you think you're some now, don't you?
Oh, what a hat!
You can lump that hat if you don't like it. I dare you to knock
it off; and anybody that'll take a dare will such eggs.
You're a liar!
You're another.
You're a fighting liar, and darn't take it up.
Aw - take a walk!
Say - if you give me much more of your sass, I'll take and
bounce a rock off'n your head.
Oh, of course you will.
Well, I will.
Well, why don't you do it, then? What do you keep saying you
will for? Why don't you do it? It's because you're afraid.
I ain't afraid.
You are.
I ain't.
You are.
Another pause, and more eyeing and sidling around each other.
Presently they were shoulder to shoulder. Tom said:
Get away from here!
Get away yourself!
I won't.
I won't either.
So they stood, each with a foot placed at an angle as a brace,
and both shoving with might and main, and glowering at each
other with hate. But neither could get an advantage. After
struggling till both were hot and flushed, each relaxed his
strain with watchful caution, and Tom said:
You're a coward and a pup. I'll tell my big brother on you, and
he can lam you with his little finger, and I'll make him do it, too.
What do I care for your big brother? I've got a brother that's
bigger than he is; and, what's more, he can throw him over that
fence, too. (Both brothers were imaginary.=
That's a lie.
Your saying so don't make it so.
Tom drew a line in the dust with his big toe, and said:
I dare you to step over that, and I'll lick you till you can't
stand up. Anybody that'll take a dare will steal a sheep.
The new boy stepped over promptly, and said:
Now you said you'd do it, now let's see you do it.
Don't you crowd me, now; you better look out.
Well, you said you'd do it - why don't you do it.
By jingoes, for two cents I will do it.
The new boy took two broad coppers out of his pocket, and held
them out with derision.
Tom struck them to the ground.
In an instant both boys were rolling and tumbling in the dirt,
gripped together like cats; and for the space of a minute they
tugged and tore at each other's hair and clothes, punched and
scratched each other's noses, and covered themselves with dust
and glory. Presently the confusion took form, and through the
fog of battle Tom appeared seated astride the new boy, and
pounding him with his fists.
Holler 'nuff'! said he.
The boy only struggled to free himself. He was crying - mainly
from rage.
Holler 'nuff' - and the pounding went on.
At last the stranger got out a smothered 'nuff'! and Tom let him
up, and said: Now that'll learn you. Better look out who you're
fooling with next time.
The new boy went off brushing the dust from his clothes,
sobbing, snuffling, and occasionally looking back and shaking
his head, and threatening what he would do to Tom the next time
he caught him out. To which Tom responded with jeers, and
started off in high feather; and as soon as his back was turned
the new boy snatched up a stone, threw it, and hit him between
the shoulders, and then turned tail and ran like an antelope.
Tom chased the traitor home, and thus found out where he lived.
He then held a position at the gate for some time, daring the
enemy to come outside; but the enemy only made faces at him
through the window, and declined. At last the enemy's mother
appeared, and called Tom a bad, vicious, vulgar child, and
ordered him away. So he went away, but he said he 'lowed' to
'lag' for that boy.
He got home pretty late that night, and when he climbed
cautiously in at the window, he uncovered an ambuscade in the
person of his aunt; and when she saw the state his clothes were
in, her resolution to turn his Saturday holiday into captivity
at hard labour became adamantine in its firmness.