The Adventures of Tom Sawyer
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The Adventures of Tom Sawyer

Mark Twain

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eBook - ePub

The Adventures of Tom Sawyer

Mark Twain

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About This Book

Packaged in handsome, affordable trade editions, Clydesdale Classics is a new series of essential works. From the musings of literary geniuses such as Nathaniel Hawthorne in The Scarlet Letter to the striking personal narrative of Harriet Jacobs in Incidents in the Life of a Slave Girl, this new series is a comprehensive collection of our literary history through the words of the exceptional few.One of Mark Twain's most beloved and respected novels, The Adventures of Tom Sawyer presents a tale of two young boys, their antics and adventures in the fictional town of St. Petersburg, Missouri.Tom, a young boy with a knack for getting into trouble, finds himself and best friend Huck Finn at the center of a very diabolical situation. One night, while Tom and Huck Finn are in a graveyard, they witness a murder. Terrified, they flee from the spot and swear that they will never reveal their secret to anyone. This sets off a chain of events in which Tom and Huck find themselves entangled, with dangerous men in pursuit to track them down.Timeless and read by generation after generation, The Adventures of Tom Sawyer is one of Twain's finest novels. Rediscover the adventure with this edition.

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Information

Publisher
Clydesdale
Year
2018
ISBN
9781945186349
1
ā€œTOM!ā€
No answer.
ā€œTOM!ā€
No answer.
ā€œWhatā€™s gone with that boy, I wonder? You TOM!ā€
No answer.
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; they were her state pair, the pride of her heart, and were built for ā€œstyle,ā€ not serviceā€”she could have seen through a pair of stove-lids just as well. She looked perplexed for a moment, and then said, not fiercely, but still loud enough for the furniture to hear:
ā€œWell, I lay if I get hold of you Iā€™llā€”ā€
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.
ā€œI never did see the beat of that boy!ā€
She went to the open door and stood in it and looked out among the tomato vines and ā€œjimpsonā€ weeds that constituted the garden. No Tom. So she lifted up her voice at an angle calculated for distance and shouted:
ā€œY-o-u-u TOM!ā€
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.
ā€œThere! I might ā€˜aā€™ thought of that closet. What you been doing in there?ā€
ā€œNothing.ā€
ā€œNothing! Look at your hands. And look at your mouth. What is that truck?ā€
ā€œI donā€™t know, aunt.ā€
ā€œWell, I know. Itā€™s jamā€”thatā€™s what it is. Forty times Iā€™ve said if you didnā€™t let that jam alone Iā€™d skin you. Hand me that switch.ā€
The switch hovered in the airā€”the peril was desperateā€”
ā€œMy! Look behind you, aunt!ā€
The old lady whirled round, and snatched her skirts out of danger. 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.
ā€œHang the boy, canā€™t I never learn anything? Ainā€™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. Canā€™t learn an 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 whatā€™s coming? He ā€˜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, itā€™s all down again and I canā€™t hit him a lick. I ainā€™t doing my duty by that boy, and thatā€™s the Lordā€™s truth, goodness knows. Spare the rod and spile the child, as the Good Book says. Iā€™m a laying up sin and suffering for us both, I know. Heā€™s full of the Old Scratch, but laws-a-me! heā€™s my own dead sisterā€™s boy, poor thing, and I ainā€™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 woman is of few days and full of trouble, as the Scripture says, and I reckon itā€™s so. Heā€™ll play hookey this evening,* and Iā€™ll just be obleeged to make him work, tomorrow, to punish him. Itā€™s mighty hard to make him work Saturdays, when all the boys is having holiday, but he hates work more than he hates anything else, and Iā€™ve got to do some of my duty by him, or Iā€™ll be the ruination of the child.ā€
Tom did play hookey, and he had a very good time. He got back home barely in season to help Jim, the small colored boy, saw next-dayā€™s wood and split the kindlings before supperā€”at least he was there in time to tell his adventures to Jim while Jim did three-fourths of the work. Tomā€™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, trouble-some 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 deepā€”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:
ā€œTom, it was middling warm in school, warnā€™t it?ā€
ā€œYesā€™m.ā€
ā€œPowerful warm, warnā€™t it?ā€
ā€œYesā€™m.ā€
ā€œDidnā€™t you want to go in a-swimming, Tom?ā€
A bit of a scare shot through Tomā€”a touch of uncomfortable suspicion. He searched Aunt Pollyā€™s face, but it told him nothing. So he said:
ā€œNoā€™mā€”well, not very much.ā€
The old lady reached out her hand and felt Tomā€™s shirt, and said:
ā€œBut you ainā€™t too warm now, though.ā€ 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:
ā€œSome of us pumped on our headsā€”mineā€™s damp yet. See?ā€
Aunt Polly was vexed to think she had overlooked that bit of circumstantial evidence, and missed a trick. Then she had a new inspiration:
ā€œTom, you didnā€™t have to undo your shirt collar where I sewed it, to pump on your head, did you? Unbutton your jacket!ā€
The trouble vanished out of Tomā€™s face. He opened his jacket. His shirt collar was securely sewed.
ā€œBother! Well, go ā€˜long with you. Iā€™d made sure youā€™d played hookey and been a-swimming. But I forgive ye, Tom. I reckon youā€™re a kind of a singed cat, as the saying isā€”betterā€™n you look. This time.ā€
She was half sorry her sagacity had miscarried, and half glad that Tom had stumbled into obedient conduct for once.
But Sidney said:
ā€œWell, now, if I didnā€™t think you sewed his collar with white thread, but itā€™s black.ā€
ā€œWhy, I did sew it with white! Tom!ā€
But Tom did not wait for the rest. As he went out at the door he said:
ā€œSiddy, Iā€™ll lick you for that.ā€
In a safe place Tom examined two large needles which were thrust into the lapels of his jacket, and had thread bound about themā€”one needle carried white thread and the other black. He said:
ā€œSheā€™d never noticed if it hadnā€™t been for Sid. Confound it! Sometimes she sews it with white, and sometimes she sews it with black. I wish to gee-miny sheā€™d stick to one or tā€™otherā€”I canā€™t keep the run of ā€˜em. But I bet you Iā€™ll lam Sid for that. Iā€™ll learn him!ā€
He was not the Model Boy of the village. He knew the model boy very well thoughā€”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 manā€™s are to a man, but because a new and powerful interest bore them down and drove them out of his mind for the timeā€”just as menā€™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 un-disturbed. 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 musicā€”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 planetā€”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 himā€”a boy a shade larger than himself. A new-comer of any age or either sex was an im-pressive curiosity in the poor little shabby village of St. Petersburg. This boy was well dressed, tooā€”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 onā€”and it was only Friday. He even wore a necktie, a bright bit of ribbon. He had a citified air about him that ate into Tomā€™s vitals. The more Tom stared at the splendid marvel, the higher he turned up his nose at his finery and the shabbier and shabbier his own outfit seemed to him to grow. Neither boy spoke. If one moved, the other movedā€”but only sidewise, in a circle; they kept face to face and eye to eye all the time. Finally Tom said:
ā€œI can lick you!ā€
ā€œIā€™d like to see you try it.ā€
ā€œWell, I can do it.ā€
ā€œNo you c...

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