The Adventures of Tom Sawyer & Huckleberry Finn - Complete Edition. Марк Твен

said if he had told them at first, they wouldn’t have started away. He made a plausible excuse; but his real reason had been the fear that not even the secret would keep them with him any very great length of time, and so he had meant to hold it in reserve as a last seduction.

      The lads came gayly back and went at their sports again with a will, chattering all the time about Tom’s stupendous plan and admiring the genius of it. After a dainty egg and fish dinner, Tom said he wanted to learn to smoke, now. Joe caught at the idea and said he would like to try, too. So Huck made pipes and filled them. These novices had never smoked anything before but cigars made of grapevine, and they “bit” the tongue, and were not considered manly anyway.

      Now they stretched themselves out on their elbows and began to puff, charily, and with slender confidence. The smoke had an unpleasant taste, and they gagged a little, but Tom said:

      “Why, it’s just as easy! If I’d a knowed this was all, I’d a learnt long ago.”

      “So would I,” said Joe. “It’s just nothing.”

      “Why, many a time I’ve looked at people smoking, and thought well I wish I could do that; but I never thought I could,” said Tom.

      “That’s just the way with me, hain’t it, Huck? You’ve heard me talk just that way — haven’t you, Huck? I’ll leave it to Huck if I haven’t.”

      “Yes — heaps of times,” said Huck.

      “Well, I have too,” said Tom; “oh, hundreds of times. Once down by the slaughterhouse. Don’t you remember, Huck? Bob Tanner was there, and Johnny Miller, and Jeff Thatcher, when I said it. Don’t you remember, Huck, ‘bout me saying that?”

      “Yes, that’s so,” said Huck. “That was the day after I lost a white alley. No, ‘twas the day before.”

      “There — I told you so,” said Tom. “Huck recollects it.”

      “I bleeve I could smoke this pipe all day,” said Joe. “I don’t feel sick.”

      “Neither do I,” said Tom. “I could smoke it all day. But I bet you Jeff Thatcher couldn’t.”

      “Jeff Thatcher! Why, he’d keel over just with two draws. Just let him try it once. HE’D see!”

      “I bet he would. And Johnny Miller — I wish could see Johnny Miller tackle it once.”

      “Oh, don’t I!” said Joe. “Why, I bet you Johnny Miller couldn’t any more do this than nothing. Just one little snifter would fetch HIM.”

      “‘Deed it would, Joe. Say — I wish the boys could see us now.”

      “So do I.”

      “Say — boys, don’t say anything about it, and some time when they’re around, I’ll come up to you and say, ‘Joe, got a pipe? I want a smoke.’ And you’ll say, kind of careless like, as if it warn’t anything, you’ll say, ‘Yes, I got my OLD pipe, and another one, but my tobacker ain’t very good.’ And I’ll say, ‘Oh, that’s all right, if it’s STRONG enough.’ And then you’ll out with the pipes, and we’ll light up just as ca’m, and then just see ‘em look!”

      “By jings, that’ll be gay, Tom! I wish it was NOW!”

      “So do I! And when we tell ‘em we learned when we was off pirating, won’t they wish they’d been along?”

      “Oh, I reckon not! I’ll just BET they will!”

      So the talk ran on. But presently it began to flag a trifle, and grow disjointed. The silences widened; the expectoration marvellously increased. Every pore inside the boys’ cheeks became a spouting fountain; they could scarcely bail out the cellars under their tongues fast enough to prevent an inundation; little overflowings down their throats occurred in spite of all they could do, and sudden retchings followed every time. Both boys were looking very pale and miserable, now. Joe’s pipe dropped from his nerveless fingers. Tom’s followed. Both fountains were going furiously and both pumps bailing with might and main. Joe said feebly:

      “I’ve lost my knife. I reckon I better go and find it.”

      Tom said, with quivering lips and halting utterance:

      “I’ll help you. You go over that way and I’ll hunt around by the spring. No, you needn’t come, Huck — we can find it.”

      So Huck sat down again, and waited an hour. Then he found it lonesome, and went to find his comrades. They were wide apart in the woods, both very pale, both fast asleep. But something informed him that if they had had any trouble they had got rid of it.

      They were not talkative at supper that night. They had a humble look, and when Huck prepared his pipe after the meal and was going to prepare theirs, they said no, they were not feeling very well — something they ate at dinner had disagreed with them.

      About midnight Joe awoke, and called the boys. There was a brooding oppressiveness in the air that seemed to bode something. The boys huddled themselves together and sought the friendly companionship of the fire, though the dull dead heat of the breathless atmosphere was stifling. They sat still, intent and waiting. The solemn hush continued. Beyond the light of the fire everything was swallowed up in the blackness of darkness. Presently there came a quivering glow that vaguely revealed the foliage for a moment and then vanished. By and by another came, a little stronger. Then another. Then a faint moan came sighing through the branches of the forest and the boys felt a fleeting breath upon their cheeks, and shuddered with the fancy that the Spirit of the Night had gone by. There was a pause. Now a weird flash turned night into day and showed every little grassblade, separate and distinct, that grew about their feet. And it showed three white, startled faces, too. A deep peal of thunder went rolling and tumbling down the heavens and lost itself in sullen rumblings in the distance. A sweep of chilly air passed by, rustling all the leaves and snowing the flaky ashes broadcast about the fire. Another fierce glare lit up the forest and an instant crash followed that seemed to rend the treetops right over the boys’ heads. They clung together in terror, in the thick gloom that followed. A few big raindrops fell pattering upon the leaves.

      “Quick! boys, go for the tent!” exclaimed Tom.