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opinion, there's
a fortune in 'em. If I had capital and a theater, I wouldn't want a
better lay-out than that--and here we've gone and sold 'em for a song.
Yes, and ain't privileged to sing the song yet. Say, where _is_ that
song--that draft?”
“In the bank for to be collected. Where _would_ it be?”
“Well, _that's_ all right then, thank goodness.”
Says I, kind of timid-like:
“Is something gone wrong?”
The king whirls on me and rips out:
“None o' your business! You keep your head shet,
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all about our
Royal Nonesuch rapscallions, and as much of the raft voyage as I had
time to; and as we struck into the town and up through the the middle of
it--it was as much as half-after eight, then--here comes a raging rush of
people with torches, and an awful whooping and yelling, and banging tin
pans and blowing horns; and we jumped to one side to let them go by;
and as they went by I see they had the king and the duke astraddle of a
rail--that is, I knowed it _was_ the king and the duke, though they was
all over tar and feathers, and didn't look like nothing in the
world that was human--just looked like a couple of monstrous big
soldier-plumes. Well, it made me sick to see it; and I was sorry for
them poor pitiful rascals, it seemed like I couldn't ever feel any
hardness against them any more in the world. It was a dreadful thing to
see. Human beings _can_ be awful cruel to one another.
We see we was too late--couldn't do no good. We asked some stragglers
about it, and they said everybody went to the show looking very
innocent; and laid low and kept dark till the poor old king was in the
middle of his cavortings on the stage; then somebody give a signal, and
the house rose up and went for them.
So we poked along back home, and I warn't feeling so brash as I was
before, but kind of ornery, and humble, and to blame, somehow--though
I hadn't done nothing. But that's always the way; it don't make no
difference whether you do right or wrong, a person's conscience ain't
got no sense, and just goes for him anyway. If I had a yaller dog that
didn't know no more than a person's conscience does I would pison him.
It takes up more room than all the rest of a person's insides, and yet
ain't no good, nohow. Tom Sawyer he says the same.
CHAPTER XXXIV.
WE stopped talking, and got to thinking. By and by Tom says:
“Looky here, Huck, what fools we are to not think of it before! I bet I
know where Jim is.”
“No! Where?”
“In that hut down by the ash-hopper. W