CHAPTER XXIII.
WELL, all day him and the king was hard at it, rigging up a stage and acurtain and a row of candles for footlights; and that night the house wasjam full of men in no time. When the place couldn't hold no more, theduke he quit tending door and went around the back way and come on to thestage and stood up before the curtain and made a little speech, andpraised up this tragedy, and said it was the most thrillingest one thatever was; and so he went on a-bragging about the tragedy, and aboutEdmund Kean the Elder, which was to play the main principal part in it;and at last when he'd got everybody's expectations up high enough, herolled up the curtain, and the next minute the king come a-prancing outon all fours, naked; and he was painted all over, ring-streaked-and-striped, all sorts of colors, as splendid as a rainbow. And--but nevermind the rest of his outfit; it was just wild, but it was awful funny.The people most killed themselves laughing; and when the king got donecapering and capered off behind the scenes, they roared and clapped andstormed and haw-hawed till he come back and done it over again, and afterthat they made him do it another time. Well, it would make a cow laugh tosee the shines that old idiot cut.
Then the duke he lets the curtain down, and bows to the people, and saysthe great tragedy will be performed only two nights more, on accounts ofpressing London engagements, where the seats is all sold already for itin Drury Lane; and then he makes them another bow, and says if he hassucceeded in pleasing them and instructing them, he will be deeplyobleeged if they will mention it to their friends and get them to comeand see it.
Twenty people sings out:
"What, is it over? Is that ALL?"
The duke says yes. Then there was a fine time. Everybody sings out,"Sold!" and rose up mad, and was a-going for that stage and themtragedians. But a big, fine looking man jumps up on a bench and shouts:
"Hold on! Just a word, gentlemen." They stopped to listen. "We aresold--mighty badly sold. But we don't want to be the laughing stock ofthis whole town, I reckon, and never hear the last of this thing as longas we live. NO. What we want is to go out of here quiet, and talk thisshow up, and sell the REST of the town! Then we'll all be in the sameboat. Ain't that sensible?" ("You bet it is!--the jedge is right!"everybody sings out.) "All right, then--not a word about any sell. Goalong home, and advise everybody to come and see the tragedy."
Next day you couldn't hear nothing around that town but how splendid thatshow was. House was jammed again that night, and we sold this crowd thesame way. When me and the king and the duke got home to the raft we allhad a supper; and by and by, about midnight, they made Jim and me backher out and float her down the middle of the river, and fetch her in andhide her about two mile below town.
The third night the house was crammed again--and they warn't new-comersthis time, but people that was at the show the other two nights. I stoodby the duke at the door, and I see that every man that went in had hispockets bulging, or something muffled up under his coat--and I see itwarn't no perfumery, neither, not by a long sight. I smelt sickly eggsby the barrel, and rotten cabbages, and such things; and if I know thesigns of a dead cat being around, and I bet I do, there was sixty-four ofthem went in. I shoved in there for a minute, but it was too various forme; I couldn't stand it. Well, when the place couldn't hold no morepeople the duke he give a fellow a quarter and told him to tend door forhim a minute, and then he started around for the stage door, I after him;but the minute we turned the corner and was in the dark he says:
"Walk fast now till you get away from the houses, and then shin for theraft like the dickens was after you!"
I done it, and he done the same. We struck the raft at the same time,and in less than two seconds we was gliding down stream, all dark andstill, and edging towards the middle of the river, nobody saying a word.I reckoned the poor king was in for a gaudy time of it with the audience,but nothing of the sort; pretty soon he crawls out from under the wigwam,and says:
"Well, how'd the old thing pan out this time, duke?" He hadn't beenup-town at all.
We never showed a light till we was about ten mile below the village.Then we lit up and had a supper, and the king and the duke fairly laughedtheir bones loose over the way they'd served them people. The duke says:
"Greenhorns, flatheads! I knew the first house would keep mum and letthe rest of the town get roped in; and I knew they'd lay for us the thirdnight, and consider it was THEIR turn now. Well, it IS their turn, andI'd give something to know how much they'd take for it. I WOULD justlike to know how they're putting in their opportunity. They can turn itinto a picnic if they want to--they brought plenty provisions."
Them rapscallions took in four hundred and sixty-five dollars in thatthree nights. I never see money hauled in by the wagon-load like thatbefore. By and by, when they was asleep and snoring, Jim says:
"Don't it s'prise you de way dem kings carries on, Huck?"
"No," I says, "it don't."
"Why don't it, Huck?"
"Well, it don't, because it's in the breed. I reckon they're all alike,"
"But, Huck, dese kings o' ourn is reglar rapscallions; dat's jist whatdey is; dey's reglar rapscallions."
"Well, that's what I'm a-saying; all kings is mostly rapscallions, as furas I can make out."
"Is dat so?"
"You read about them once--you'll see. Look at Henry the Eight; this 'n's a Sunday-school Superintendent to HIM. And look at Charles Second,and Louis Fourteen, and Louis Fifteen, and James Second, and EdwardSecond, and Richard Third, and forty more; besides all them Saxonheptarchies that used to rip around so in old times and raise Cain. My,you ought to seen old Henry the Eight when he was in bloom. He WAS ablossom. He used to marry a new wife every day, and chop off her headnext morning. And he would do it just as indifferent as if he wasordering up eggs. 'Fetch up Nell Gwynn,' he says. They fetch her up.Next morning, 'Chop off her head!' And they chop it off. 'Fetch up JaneShore,' he says; and up she comes, Next morning, 'Chop off her head'--andthey chop it off. 'Ring up Fair Rosamun.' Fair Rosamun answers thebell. Next morning, 'Chop off her head.' And he made every one of themtell him a tale every night; and he kept that up till he had hogged athousand and one tales that way, and then he put them all in a book, andcalled it Domesday Book--which was a good name and stated the case. Youdon't know kings, Jim, but I know them; and this old rip of ourn is oneof the cleanest I've struck in history. Well, Henry he takes a notion hewants to get up some trouble with this country. How does he go at it--give notice?--give the country a show? No. All of a sudden he heavesall the tea in Boston Harbor overboard, and whacks out a declaration ofindependence, and dares them to come on. That was HIS style--he nevergive anybody a chance. He had suspicions of his father, the Duke ofWellington. Well, what did he do? Ask him to show up? No--drowndedhim in a butt of mamsey, like a cat. S'pose people left money layingaround where he was--what did he do? He collared it. S'pose hecontracted to do a thing, and you paid him, and didn't set down there andsee that he done it--what did he do? He always done the other thing.S'pose he opened his mouth--what then? If he didn't shut it up powerfulquick he'd lose a lie every time. That's the kind of a bug Henry was;and if we'd a had him along 'stead of our kings he'd a fooled that town aheap worse than ourn done. I don't say that ourn is lambs, because theyain't, when you come right down to the cold facts; but they ain't nothingto THAT old ram, anyway. All I say is, kings is kings, and you got tomake allowances. Take them all around, they're a mighty ornery lot.It's the way they're raised."
"But dis one do SMELL so like de nation, Huck."
"Well, they all do, Jim. We can't help the way a king smells; historydon't tell no way."
"Now de duke, he's a tolerble likely man in some ways."
"Yes, a duke's different. But not very different. This one's a middlinghard lot for a duke. When he's drunk there ain't no near-sighted mancould tell him from a king."
"Well, anyways, I doan' hanker for no mo' un um, Huck. Dese is all I kinstan'."
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"It's the way I feel, too, Jim. But we've got them on our hands, and wegot to remember what they are, and make allowances. Sometimes I wish wecould hear of a country that's out of kings."
What was the use to tell Jim these warn't real kings and dukes? Itwouldn't a done no good; and, besides, it was just as I said: youcouldn't tell them from the real kind.
I went to sleep, and Jim didn't call me when it was my turn. He oftendone that. When I waked up just at daybreak he was sitting there withhis head down betwixt his knees, moaning and mourning to himself. Ididn't take notice nor let on. I knowed what it was about. He wasthinking about his wife and his children, away up yonder, and he was lowand homesick; because he hadn't ever been away from home before in hislife; and I do believe he cared just as much for his people as whitefolks does for their'n. It don't seem natural, but I reckon it's so. Hewas often moaning and mourning that way nights, when he judged I wasasleep, and saying, "Po' little 'Lizabeth! po' little Johnny! it's mightyhard; I spec' I ain't ever gwyne to see you no mo', no mo'!" He was amighty good nigger, Jim was.
But this time I somehow got to talking to him about his wife and youngones; and by and by he says:
"What makes me feel so bad dis time 'uz bekase I hear sumpn over yonderon de bank like a whack, er a slam, while ago, en it mine me er de time Itreat my little 'Lizabeth so ornery. She warn't on'y 'bout fo' year ole,en she tuck de sk'yarlet fever, en had a powful rough spell; but she gotwell, en one day she was a-stannin' aroun', en I says to her, I says:
"'Shet de do'.'
"She never done it; jis' stood dah, kiner smilin' up at me. It make memad; en I says agin, mighty loud, I says:
"'Doan' you hear me? Shet de do'!'
"She jis stood de same way, kiner smilin' up. I was a-bilin'! I says:
"'I lay I MAKE you mine!'
"En wid dat I fetch' her a slap side de head dat sont her a-sprawlin'.Den I went into de yuther room, en 'uz gone 'bout ten minutes; en when Icome back dah was dat do' a-stannin' open YIT, en dat chile stannin' mos'right in it, a-lookin' down and mournin', en de tears runnin' down. My,but I WUZ mad! I was a-gwyne for de chile, but jis' den--it was a do'dat open innerds--jis' den, 'long come de wind en slam it to, behine dechile, ker-BLAM!--en my lan', de chile never move'! My breff mos' hopouter me; en I feel so--so--I doan' know HOW I feel. I crope out, alla-tremblin', en crope aroun' en open de do' easy en slow, en poke my headin behine de chile, sof' en still, en all uv a sudden I says POW! jis' asloud as I could yell. SHE NEVER BUDGE! Oh, Huck, I bust out a-cryin' engrab her up in my arms, en say, 'Oh, de po' little thing! De Lord GodAmighty fogive po' ole Jim, kaze he never gwyne to fogive hisself aslong's he live!' Oh, she was plumb deef en dumb, Huck, plumb deef endumb--en I'd ben a-treat'n her so!"