Tom Sawyer, Detective

M >> Mark Twain (Samuel Clemens) >> Tom Sawyer, Detective

CHAPTER I. AN INVITATION FOR TOM AND HUCK

[Footnote: Strange as the incidents of this story are, they are not
inventions, but facts--even to the public confession of the accused. I
take them from an old-time Swedish criminal trial, change the actors, and
transfer the scenes to America. I have added some details, but only a
couple of them are important ones. -- M. T.]

WELL, it was the next spring after me and Tom Sawyer set our old nigger
Jim free, the time he was chained up for a runaway slave down there on
Tom's uncle Silas's farm in Arkansaw. The frost was working out of the
ground, and out of the air, too, and it was getting closer and closer
onto barefoot time every day; and next it would be marble time, and next
mumbletypeg, and next tops and hoops, and next kites, and then right away
it would be summer and going in a-swimming. It just makes a boy homesick
to look ahead like that and see how far off summer is. Yes, and it sets
him to sighing and saddening around, and there's something the matter
with him, he don't know what. But anyway, he gets out by himself and
mopes and thinks; and mostly he hunts for a lonesome place high up on the
hill in the edge of the woods, and sets there and looks away off on the
big Mississippi down there a-reaching miles and miles around the points
where the timber looks smoky and dim it's so far off and still, and
everything's so solemn it seems like everybody you've loved is dead and
gone, and you 'most wish you was dead and gone too, and done with it all.

Don't you know what that is? It's spring fever. That is what the name of
it is. And when you've got it, you want--oh, you don't quite know what
it is you DO want, but it just fairly makes your heart ache, you want it
so! It seems to you that mainly what you want is to get away; get away
from the same old tedious things you're so used to seeing and so tired
of, and set something new. That is the idea; you want to go and be a
wanderer; you want to go wandering far away to strange countries where
everything is mysterious and wonderful and romantic. And if you can't do
that, you'll put up with considerable less; you'll go anywhere you CAN
go, just so as to get away, and be thankful of the chance, too.

Well, me and Tom Sawyer had the spring fever, and had it bad, too; but it
warn't any use to think about Tom trying to get away, because, as he
said, his Aunt Polly wouldn't let him quit school and go traipsing off
somers wasting time; so we was pretty blue. We was setting on the front
steps one day about sundown talking this way, when out comes his aunt
Polly with a letter in her hand and says:

"Tom, I reckon you've got to pack up and go down to Arkansaw--your aunt
Sally wants you."

I 'most jumped out of my skin for joy. I reckoned Tom would fly at his
aunt and hug her head off; but if you believe me he set there like a
rock, and never said a word. It made me fit to cry to see him act so
foolish, with such a noble chance as this opening up. Why, we might lose
it if he didn't speak up and show he was thankful and grateful. But he
set there and studied and studied till I was that distressed I didn't
know what to do; then he says, very ca'm, and I could a shot him for it:

"Well," he says, "I'm right down sorry, Aunt Polly, but I reckon I got to
be excused--for the present."

His aunt Polly was knocked so stupid and so mad at the cold impudence of
it that she couldn't say a word for as much as a half a minute, and this
gave me a chance to nudge Tom and whisper:

"Ain't you got any sense? Sp'iling such a noble chance as this and
throwing it away?"

But he warn't disturbed. He mumbled back:

"Huck Finn, do you want me to let her SEE how bad I want to go? Why,
she'd begin to doubt, right away, and imagine a lot of sicknesses and
dangers and objections, and first you know she'd take it all back. You
lemme alone; I reckon I know how to work her."

Now I never would 'a' thought of that. But he was right. Tom Sawyer was
always right--the levelest head I ever see, and always AT himself and
ready for anything you might spring on him. By this time his aunt Polly
was all straight again, and she let fly. She says:

"You'll be excused! YOU will! Well, I never heard the like of it in all
my days! The idea of you talking like that to ME! Now take yourself off
and pack your traps; and if I hear another word out of you about what
you'll be excused from and what you won't, I lay I'LL excuse you--with a
hickory!"

She hit his head a thump with her thimble as we dodged by, and he let on
to be whimpering as we struck for the stairs. Up in his room he hugged
me, he was so out of his head for gladness because he was going
traveling. And he says:

"Before we get away she'll wish she hadn't let me go, but she won't know
any way to get around it now. After what she's said, her pride won't let
her take it back."

Tom was packed in ten minutes, all except what his aunt and Mary would
finish up for him; then we waited ten more for her to get cooled down and
sweet and gentle again; for Tom said it took her ten minutes to unruffle
in times when half of her feathers was up, but twenty when they was all
up, and this was one of the times when they was all up. Then we went
down, being in a sweat to know what the letter said.

She was setting there in a brown study, with it laying in her lap. We
set down, and she says:

"They're in considerable trouble down there, and they think you and
Huck'll be a kind of diversion for them--'comfort,' they say. Much of
that they'll get out of you and Huck Finn, I reckon. There's a neighbor
named Brace Dunlap that's been wanting to marry their Benny for three
months, and at last they told him point blank and once for all, he
COULDN'T; so he has soured on them, and they're worried about it. I
reckon he's somebody they think they better be on the good side of, for
they've tried to please him by hiring his no-account brother to help on
the farm when they can't hardly afford it, and don't want him around
anyhow. Who are the Dunlaps?"

"They live about a mile from Uncle Silas's place, Aunt Polly--all the
farmers live about a mile apart down there--and Brace Dunlap is a long
sight richer than any of the others, and owns a whole grist of niggers.
He's a widower, thirty-six years old, without any children, and is proud
of his money and overbearing, and everybody is a little afraid of him. I
judge he thought he could have any girl he wanted, just for the asking,
and it must have set him back a good deal when he found he couldn't get
Benny. Why, Benny's only half as old as he is, and just as sweet and
lovely as--well, you've seen her. Poor old Uncle Silas--why, it's
pitiful, him trying to curry favor that way--so hard pushed and poor, and
yet hiring that useless Jubiter Dunlap to please his ornery brother."

"What a name--Jubiter! Where'd he get it?"

"It's only just a nickname. I reckon they've forgot his real name long
before this. He's twenty-seven, now, and has had it ever since the first
time he ever went in swimming. The school teacher seen a round brown
mole the size of a dime on his left leg above his knee, and four little
bits of moles around it, when he was naked, and he said it minded him of
Jubiter and his moons; and the children thought it was funny, and so they
got to calling him Jubiter, and he's Jubiter yet. He's tall, and lazy,
and sly, and sneaky, and ruther cowardly, too, but kind of good-natured,
and wears long brown hair and no beard, and hasn't got a cent, and Brace
boards him for nothing, and gives him his old clothes to wear, and
despises him. Jubiter is a twin."

"What's t'other twin like?"

"Just exactly like Jubiter--so they say; used to was, anyway, but he
hain't been seen for seven years. He got to robbing when he was nineteen
or twenty, and they jailed him; but he broke jail and got away--up North
here, somers. They used to hear about him robbing and burglaring now and
then, but that was years ago. He's dead, now. At least that's what they
say. They don't hear about him any more."

"What was his name?"

"Jake."

There wasn't anything more said for a considerable while; the old lady
was thinking. At last she says:

"The thing that is mostly worrying your aunt Sally is the tempers that
that man Jubiter gets your uncle into."

Tom was astonished, and so was I. Tom says:

"Tempers? Uncle Silas? Land, you must be joking! I didn't know he HAD any
temper."

"Works him up into perfect rages, your aunt Sally says; says he acts as
if he would really hit the man, sometimes."

"Aunt Polly, it beats anything I ever heard of. Why, he's just as gentle
as mush."

"Well, she's worried, anyway. Says your uncle Silas is like a changed
man, on account of all this quarreling. And the neighbors talk about it,
and lay all the blame on your uncle, of course, because he's a preacher
and hain't got any business to quarrel. Your aunt Sally says he hates to
go into the pulpit he's so ashamed; and the people have begun to cool
toward him, and he ain't as popular now as he used to was."

"Well, ain't it strange? Why, Aunt Polly, he was always so good and kind
and moony and absent-minded and chuckle-headed and lovable--why, he was
just an angel! What CAN be the matter of him, do you reckon?"




CHAPTER II. JAKE DUNLAP

WE had powerful good luck; because we got a chance in a stern-wheeler
from away North which was bound for one of them bayous or one-horse
rivers away down Louisiana way, and so we could go all the way down the
Upper Mississippi and all the way down the Lower Mississippi to that farm
in Arkansaw without having to change steamboats at St. Louis; not so very
much short of a thousand miles at one pull.

A pretty lonesome boat; there warn't but few passengers, and all old
folks, that set around, wide apart, dozing, and was very quiet. We was
four days getting out of the "upper river," because we got aground so
much. But it warn't dull--couldn't be for boys that was traveling, of
course.

From the very start me and Tom allowed that there was somebody sick in
the stateroom next to ourn, because the meals was always toted in there
by the waiters. By and by we asked about it--Tom did and the waiter said
it was a man, but he didn't look sick.

"Well, but AIN'T he sick?"

"I don't know; maybe he is, but 'pears to me he's just letting on."

"What makes you think that?"

"Because if he was sick he would pull his clothes off SOME time or
other--don't you reckon he would? Well, this one don't. At least he don't
ever pull off his boots, anyway."

"The mischief he don't! Not even when he goes to bed?"

"No."

It was always nuts for Tom Sawyer--a mystery was. If you'd lay out a
mystery and a pie before me and him, you wouldn't have to say take your
choice; it was a thing that would regulate itself. Because in my nature
I have always run to pie, whilst in his nature he has always run to
mystery. People are made different. And it is the best way. Tom says to
the waiter:

"What's the man's name?"

"Phillips."

"Where'd he come aboard?"

"I think he got aboard at Elexandria, up on the Iowa line."

"What do you reckon he's a-playing?"

"I hain't any notion--I never thought of it."

I says to myself, here's another one that runs to pie.

"Anything peculiar about him?--the way he acts or talks?"

"No--nothing, except he seems so scary, and keeps his doors locked night
and day both, and when you knock he won't let you in till he opens the
door a crack and sees who it is."

"By jimminy, it's int'resting! I'd like to get a look at him. Say--the
next time you're going in there, don't you reckon you could spread the
door and--"

"No, indeedy! He's always behind it. He would block that game."

Tom studied over it, and then he says:

"Looky here. You lend me your apern and let me take him his breakfast in
the morning. I'll give you a quarter."

The boy was plenty willing enough, if the head steward wouldn't mind.
Tom says that's all right, he reckoned he could fix it with the head
steward; and he done it. He fixed it so as we could both go in with
aperns on and toting vittles.

He didn't sleep much, he was in such a sweat to get in there and find out
the mystery about Phillips; and moreover he done a lot of guessing about
it all night, which warn't no use, for if you are going to find out the
facts of a thing, what's the sense in guessing out what ain't the facts
and wasting ammunition? I didn't lose no sleep. I wouldn't give a dern
to know what's the matter of Phillips, I says to myself.

Well, in the morning we put on the aperns and got a couple of trays of
truck, and Tom he knocked on the door. The man opened it a crack, and
then he let us in and shut it quick. By Jackson, when we got a sight of
him, we 'most dropped the trays! and Tom says:

"Why, Jubiter Dunlap, where'd YOU come from?"

Well, the man was astonished, of course; and first off he looked like he
didn't know whether to be scared, or glad, or both, or which, but finally
he settled down to being glad; and then his color come back, though at
first his face had turned pretty white. So we got to talking together
while he et his breakfast. And he says:

"But I aint Jubiter Dunlap. I'd just as soon tell you who I am, though,
if you'll swear to keep mum, for I ain't no Phillips, either."

Tom says:

"We'll keep mum, but there ain't any need to tell who you are if you
ain't Jubiter Dunlap."

"Why?"

"Because if you ain't him you're t'other twin, Jake. You're the spit'n
image of Jubiter."

"Well, I'm Jake. But looky here, how do you come to know us Dunlaps?"

Tom told about the adventures we'd had down there at his uncle Silas's
last summer, and when he see that there warn't anything about his
folks--or him either, for that matter--that we didn't know, he opened out
and talked perfectly free and candid. He never made any bones about his
own case; said he'd been a hard lot, was a hard lot yet, and reckoned
he'd be a hard lot plumb to the end. He said of course it was a
dangerous life, and--He give a kind of gasp, and set his head like a
person that's listening. We didn't say anything, and so it was very
still for a second or so, and there warn't no sounds but the screaking of
the woodwork and the chug-chugging of the machinery down below.

Then we got him comfortable again, telling him about his people, and how
Brace's wife had been dead three years, and Brace wanted to marry Benny
and she shook him, and Jubiter was working for Uncle Silas, and him and
Uncle Silas quarreling all the time--and then he let go and laughed.

"Land!" he says, "it's like old times to hear all this tittle-tattle, and
does me good. It's been seven years and more since I heard any. How do
they talk about me these days?"

"Who?"

"The farmers--and the family."

"Why, they don't talk about you at all--at least only just a mention,
once in a long time."

"The nation!" he says, surprised; "why is that?"

"Because they think you are dead long ago."

"No! Are you speaking true?--honor bright, now." He jumped up, excited.

"Honor bright. There ain't anybody thinks you are alive."

"Then I'm saved, I'm saved, sure! I'll go home. They'll hide me and save
my life. You keep mum. Swear you'll keep mum--swear you'll never, never
tell on me. Oh, boys, be good to a poor devil that's being hunted day
and night, and dasn't show his face! I've never done you any harm; I'll
never do you any, as God is in the heavens; swear you'll be good to me
and help me save my life."

We'd a swore it if he'd been a dog; and so we done it. Well, he couldn't
love us enough for it or be grateful enough, poor cuss; it was all he
could do to keep from hugging us.

We talked along, and he got out a little hand-bag and begun to open it,
and told us to turn our backs. We done it, and when he told us to turn
again he was perfectly different to what he was before. He had on blue
goggles and the naturalest-looking long brown whiskers and mustashes you
ever see. His own mother wouldn't 'a' knowed him. He asked us if he
looked like his brother Jubiter, now.

"No," Tom said; "there ain't anything left that's like him except the
long hair."

"All right, I'll get that cropped close to my head before I get there;
then him and Brace will keep my secret, and I'll live with them as being
a stranger, and the neighbors won't ever guess me out. What do you
think?"

Tom he studied awhile, then he says:

"Well, of course me and Huck are going to keep mum there, but if you
don't keep mum yourself there's going to be a little bit of a risk--it
ain't much, maybe, but it's a little. I mean, if you talk, won't people
notice that your voice is just like Jubiter's; and mightn't it make them
think of the twin they reckoned was dead, but maybe after all was hid all
this time under another name?"

"By George," he says, "you're a sharp one! You're perfectly right. I've
got to play deef and dumb when there's a neighbor around. If I'd a
struck for home and forgot that little detail--However, I wasn't striking
for home. I was breaking for any place where I could get away from these
fellows that are after me; then I was going to put on this disguise and
get some different clothes, and--"

He jumped for the outside door and laid his ear against it and listened,
pale and kind of panting. Presently he whispers:

"Sounded like cocking a gun! Lord, what a life to lead!"

Then he sunk down in a chair all limp and sick like, and wiped the sweat
off of his face.




CHAPTER III. A DIAMOND ROBBERY

FROM that time out, we was with him 'most all the time, and one or
t'other of us slept in his upper berth. He said he had been so lonesome,
and it was such a comfort to him to have company, and somebody to talk to
in his troubles. We was in a sweat to find out what his secret was, but
Tom said the best way was not to seem anxious, then likely he would drop
into it himself in one of his talks, but if we got to asking questions he
would get suspicious and shet up his shell. It turned out just so. It
warn't no trouble to see that he WANTED to talk about it, but always
along at first he would scare away from it when he got on the very edge
of it, and go to talking about something else. The way it come about was
this: He got to asking us, kind of indifferent like, about the passengers
down on deck. We told him about them. But he warn't satisfied; we warn't
particular enough. He told us to describe them better. Tom done it. At
last, when Tom was describing one of the roughest and raggedest ones, he
gave a shiver and a gasp and says:

"Oh, lordy, that's one of them! They're aboard sure--I just knowed it.
I sort of hoped I had got away, but I never believed it. Go on."

Presently when Tom was describing another mangy, rough deck passenger, he
give that shiver again and says:

"That's him!--that's the other one. If it would only come a good black
stormy night and I could get ashore. You see, they've got spies on me.
They've got a right to come up and buy drinks at the bar yonder forrard,
and they take that chance to bribe somebody to keep watch on me--porter
or boots or somebody. If I was to slip ashore without anybody seeing me,
they would know it inside of an hour."

So then he got to wandering along, and pretty soon, sure enough, he was
telling! He was poking along through his ups and downs, and when he come
to that place he went right along. He says:

"It was a confidence game. We played it on a julery-shop in St. Louis.
What we was after was a couple of noble big di'monds as big as
hazel-nuts, which everybody was running to see. We was dressed up fine,
and we played it on them in broad daylight. We ordered the di'monds sent
to the hotel for us to see if we wanted to buy, and when we was examining
them we had paste counterfeits all ready, and THEM was the things that
went back to the shop when we said the water wasn't quite fine enough for
twelve thousand dollars."

"Twelve-thousand-dollars!" Tom says. "Was they really worth all that
money, do you reckon?"

"Every cent of it."

"And you fellows got away with them?"

"As easy as nothing. I don't reckon the julery people know they've been
robbed yet. But it wouldn't be good sense to stay around St. Louis, of
course, so we considered where we'd go. One was for going one way, one
another, so we throwed up, heads or tails, and the Upper Mississippi won.
We done up the di'monds in a paper and put our names on it and put it in
the keep of the hotel clerk, and told him not to ever let either of us
have it again without the others was on hand to see it done; then we went
down town, each by his own self--because I reckon maybe we all had the
same notion. I don't know for certain, but I reckon maybe we had."

"What notion?" Tom says.

"To rob the others."

"What--one take everything, after all of you had helped to get it?"

"Cert'nly."

It disgusted Tom Sawyer, and he said it was the orneriest, low-downest
thing he ever heard of. But Jake Dunlap said it warn't unusual in the
profession. Said when a person was in that line of business he'd got to
look out for his own intrust, there warn't nobody else going to do it for
him. And then he went on. He says:

"You see, the trouble was, you couldn't divide up two di'monds amongst
three. If there'd been three--But never mind about that, there warn't
three. I loafed along the back streets studying and studying. And I
says to myself, I'll hog them di'monds the first chance I get, and I'll
have a disguise all ready, and I'll give the boys the slip, and when I'm
safe away I'll put it on, and then let them find me if they can. So I
got the false whiskers and the goggles and this countrified suit of
clothes, and fetched them along back in a hand-bag; and when I was
passing a shop where they sell all sorts of things, I got a glimpse of
one of my pals through the window. It was Bud Dixon. I was glad, you
bet. I says to myself, I'll see what he buys. So I kept shady, and
watched. Now what do you reckon it was he bought?"

"Whiskers?" said I.

"No."

"Goggles?"

"No."

"Oh, keep still, Huck Finn, can't you, you're only just hendering all you
can. What WAS it he bought, Jake?"

"You'd never guess in the world. It was only just a screwdriver--just a
wee little bit of a screwdriver."

"Well, I declare! What did he want with that?"

"That's what I thought. It was curious. It clean stumped me. I says to
myself, what can he want with that thing? Well, when he come out I stood
back out of sight, and then tracked him to a second-hand slop-shop and
see him buy a red flannel shirt and some old ragged clothes--just the
ones he's got on now, as you've described. Then I went down to the wharf
and hid my things aboard the up-river boat that we had picked out, and
then started back and had another streak of luck. I seen our other pal
lay in HIS stock of old rusty second-handers. We got the di'monds and
went aboard the boat.

"But now we was up a stump, for we couldn't go to bed. We had to set up
and watch one another. Pity, that was; pity to put that kind of a strain
on us, because there was bad blood between us from a couple of weeks
back, and we was only friends in the way of business. Bad anyway, seeing
there was only two di'monds betwixt three men. First we had supper, and
then tramped up and down the deck together smoking till most midnight;
then we went and set down in my stateroom and locked the doors and looked
in the piece of paper to see if the di'monds was all right, then laid it
on the lower berth right in full sight; and there we set, and set, and
by-and-by it got to be dreadful hard to keep awake. At last Bud Dixon he
dropped off. As soon as he was snoring a good regular gait that was
likely to last, and had his chin on his breast and looked permanent, Hal
Clayton nodded towards the di'monds and then towards the outside door,
and I understood. I reached and got the paper, and then we stood up and
waited perfectly still; Bud never stirred; I turned the key of the
outside door very soft and slow, then turned the knob the same way, and
we went tiptoeing out onto the guard, and shut the door very soft and
gentle.

"There warn't nobody stirring anywhere, and the boat was slipping along,
swift and steady, through the big water in the smoky moonlight. We never
said a word, but went straight up onto the hurricane-deck and plumb back
aft, and set down on the end of the sky-light. Both of us knowed what
that meant, without having to explain to one another. Bud Dixon would
wake up and miss the swag, and would come straight for us, for he ain't
afeard of anything or anybody, that man ain't. He would come, and we
would heave him overboard, or get killed trying. It made me shiver,
because I ain't as brave as some people, but if I showed the white
feather--well, I knowed better than do that. I kind of hoped the boat
would land somers, and we could skip ashore and not have to run the risk
of this row, I was so scared of Bud Dixon, but she was an upper-river tub
and there warn't no real chance of that.