TOM SAWYER, DETECTIVE

know what you’d CALL proof.”

Think of that now. I never see such a head as that

boy had. Why, I had eyes and I could see things, but

they never meant nothing to me. But Tom Sawyer

was different. When Tom Sawyer seen a thing it just

got up on its hind legs and TALKED to him — told him

everything it knowed. I never see such a head.

“Tom Sawyer,” I says, “I’ll say it again as I’ve

said it a many a time before: I ain’t fitten to black

your boots. But that’s all right — that’s neither here

nor there. God Almighty made us all, and some He

gives eyes that’s blind, and some He gives eyes that

can see, and I reckon it ain’t none of our lookout what

He done it for; it’s all right, or He’d ‘a’ fixed it some

other way. Go on — I see plenty plain enough, now,

that them thieves didn’t get way with the di’monds.

Why didn’t they, do you reckon?”

“Because they got chased away by them other two

men before they could pull the boots off of the corpse.”

“That’s so! I see it now. But looky here, Tom,

why ain’t we to go and tell about it?”

“Oh, shucks, Huck Finn, can’t you see? Look at

it. What’s a-going to happen? There’s going to be

an inquest in the morning. Them two men will tell

how they heard the yells and rushed there just in time

to not save the stranger. Then the jury’ll twaddle

and twaddle and twaddle, and finally they’ll fetch in a

verdict that he got shot or stuck or busted over the

head with something, and come to his death by the in-

spiration of God. And after they’ve buried him they’ll

auction off his things for to pay the expenses, and

then’s OUR chance.”

“How, Tom?”

“Buy the boots for two dollars!”

Well, it ‘most took my breath.

“My land! Why, Tom, WE’LL get the di’monds!”

“You bet. Some day there’ll be a big reward

offered for them — a thousand dollars, sure. That’s

our money! Now we’ll trot in and see the folks.

And mind you we don’t know anything about any

murder, or any di’monds, or any thieves — don’t you

forget that.”

I had to sigh a little over the way he had got it fixed.

I’d ‘a’ SOLD them di’monds — yes, sir — for twelve

thousand dollars; but I didn’t say anything. It

wouldn’t done any good. I says:

“But what are we going to tell your aunt Sally has

made us so long getting down here from the village,

Tom?”

“Oh, I’ll leave that to you,” he says. “I reckon

you can explain it somehow.”

He was always just that strict and delicate. He

never would tell a lie himself.

We struck across the big yard, noticing this, that,

and t’other thing that was so familiar, and we so glad

to see it again, and when we got to the roofed big

passageway betwixt the double log house and the

kitchen part, there was everything hanging on the wall

just as it used to was, even to Uncle Silas’s old faded

green baize working-gown with the hood to it, and rag-

gedy white patch between the shoulders that always

looked like somebody had hit him with a snowball; and

then we lifted the latch and walked in. Aunt Sally she

was just a-ripping and a-tearing around, and the

children was huddled in one corner, and the old man

he was huddled in the other and praying for help in

time of need. She jumped for us with joy and tears

running down her face and give us a whacking box on

the ear, and then hugged us and kissed us and boxed

us again, and just couldn’t seem to get enough of it,

she was so glad to see us; and she says:

“Where HAVE you been a-loafing to, you good-for-

nothing trash! I’ve been that worried about you I

didn’t know what to do. Your traps has been here

ever so long, and I’ve had supper cooked fresh about

four times so as to have it hot and good when you

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