Uncle Tom's Cabin. Гарриет Бичер-Стоу

I used to prove to ye that we made full as much, and was as well off for this yer world, by treatin’ on ’em well, besides keepin’ a better chance for comin’ in the kingdom at last, when wust comes to wust, and thar an’t nothing else left to get, ye know.”

      “Boh!” said Tom, “don’t I know?—don’t make me too sick with any yer stuff,—my stomach is a leetle riled now;” and Tom drank half a glass of raw brandy.

      “I say,” said Haley, and leaning back in his chair and gesturing impressively, “I’ll say this now, I al’ays meant to drive my trade so as to make money on ’t fust and foremost, as much as any man; but, then, trade an’t everything, and money an’t everything, ’cause we’s all got souls. I don’t care, now, who hears me say it,—and I think a cussed sight on it,—so I may as well come out with it. I b’lieve in religion, and one of these days, when I’ve got matters tight and snug, I calculates to tend to my soul and them ar matters; and so what’s the use of doin’ any more wickedness than ’s re’lly necessary?—it don’t seem to me it’s ’t all prudent.”

      “Tend to yer soul!” repeated Tom, contemptuously; “take a bright lookout to find a soul in you,—save yourself any care on that score. If the devil sifts you through a hair sieve, he won’t find one.”

      “Why, Tom, you’re cross,” said Haley; “why can’t ye take it pleasant, now, when a feller’s talking for your good?”

      “Stop that ar jaw o’ yourn, there,” said Tom, gruffly. “I can stand most any talk o’ yourn but your pious talk,—that kills me right up. After all, what’s the odds between me and you? ’T an’t that you care one bit more, or have a bit more feelin’—it’s clean, sheer, dog meanness, wanting to cheat the devil and save your own skin; don’t I see through it? And your ‘gettin’ religion,’ as you call it, arter all, is too p’isin mean for any crittur;—run up a bill with the devil all your life, and then sneak out when pay time comes! Bob!”

      “Come, come, gentlemen, I say; this isn’t business,” said Marks. “There’s different ways, you know, of looking at all subjects. Mr. Haley is a very nice man, no doubt, and has his own conscience; and, Tom, you have your ways, and very good ones, too, Tom; but quarrelling, you know, won’t answer no kind of purpose. Let’s go to business. Now, Mr. Haley, what is it?—you want us to undertake to catch this yer gal?”

      “The gal’s no matter of mine,—she’s Shelby’s; it’s only the boy. I was a fool for buying the monkey!”

      “You’re generally a fool!” said Tom, gruffly.

      “Come, now, Loker, none of your huffs,” said Marks, licking his lips; “you see, Mr. Haley ’s a puttin’ us in a way of a good job, I reckon; just hold still—these yer arrangements is my forte. This yer gal, Mr. Haley, how is she? what is she?”

      “Wal! white and handsome—well brought up. I’d a gin Shelby eight hundred or a thousand, and then made well on her.”

      “White and handsome—well brought up!” said Marks, his sharp eyes, nose and mouth, all alive with enterprise. “Look here, now, Loker, a beautiful opening. We’ll do a business here on our own account;—we does the catchin’; the boy, of course, goes to Mr. Haley,—we takes the gal to Orleans to speculate on. An’t it beautiful?”

      Tom, whose great heavy mouth had stood ajar during this communication, now suddenly snapped it together, as a big dog closes on a piece of meat, and seemed to be digesting the idea at his leisure.

      “Ye see,” said Marks to Haley, stirring his punch as he did so, “ye see, we has justices convenient at all p’ints along shore, that does up any little jobs in our line quite reasonable. Tom, he does the knockin’ down and that ar; and I come in all dressed up—shining boots—everything first chop, when the swearin’ ’s to be done. You oughter see, now,” said Marks, in a glow of professional pride, “how I can tone it off. One day, I’m Mr. Twickem, from New Orleans; ’nother day, I’m just come from my plantation on Pearl River, where I works seven hundred niggers; then, again, I come out a distant relation of Henry Clay, or some old cock in Kentuck. Talents is different, you know. Now, Tom’s roarer when there’s any thumping or fighting to be done; but at lying he an’t good, Tom an’t,—ye see it don’t come natural to him; but, Lord, if thar’s a feller in the country that can swear to anything and everything, and put in all the circumstances and flourishes with a long face, and carry ’t through better ’n I can, why, I’d like to see him, that’s all! I b’lieve my heart, I could get along and snake through, even if justices were more particular than they is. Sometimes I rather wish they was more particular; ’t would be a heap more relishin’ if they was,—more fun, yer know.”

      Tom Loker, who, as we have made it appear, was a man of slow thoughts and movements, here interrupted Marks by bringing his heavy fist down on the table, so as to make all ring again, “It’ll do!” he said.

      “Lord bless ye, Tom, ye needn’t break all the glasses!” said Marks; “save your fist for time o’ need.”

      “But, gentlemen, an’t I to come in for a share of the profits?” said Haley.

      “An’t it enough we catch the boy for ye?” said Loker. “What do ye want?”

      “Wal,” said Haley, “if I gives you the job, it’s worth something,—say ten per cent. on the profits, expenses paid.”

      “Now,” said Loker, with a tremendous oath, and striking the table with his heavy fist, “don’t I know you, Dan Haley? Don’t you think to come it over me! Suppose Marks and I have taken up the catchin’ trade, jest to ’commodate gentlemen like you, and get nothin’ for ourselves?—Not by a long chalk! we’ll have the gal out and out, and you keep quiet, or, ye see, we’ll have both,—what’s to hinder? Han’t you show’d us the game? It’s as free to us as you, I hope. If you or Shelby wants to chase us, look where the partridges was last year; if you find them or us, you’re quite welcome.”

      “O, wal, certainly, jest let it go at that,” said Haley, alarmed; “you catch the boy for the job;—you allers did trade far with me, Tom, and was up to yer word.”

      “Ye know that,” said Tom; “I don’t pretend none of your snivelling ways, but I won’t lie in my ’counts with the devil himself. What I ses I’ll do, I will do,—you know that, Dan Haley.”

      “Jes so, jes so,—I said so, Tom,” said Haley; “and if you’d only promise to have the boy for me in a week, at any point you’ll name, that’s all I want.”

      “But it an’t all I want, by a long jump,” said Tom. “Ye don’t think I did business with you, down in Natchez, for nothing, Haley; I’ve learned to hold an eel, when I catch him. You’ve got to fork over fifty dollars, flat down, or this child don’t start a peg. I know yer.”

      “Why, when you have a job in hand that may bring a clean profit of somewhere about a thousand or sixteen hundred, why, Tom, you’re onreasonable,” said Haley.

      “Yes, and hasn’t we business booked for five weeks to come,—all we can do? And suppose we leaves all, and goes to bush-whacking round arter yer young uns, and finally doesn’t catch the gal,—and gals allers is the devil to catch,—what’s then? would you pay us a cent—would you? I think I see you a doin’ it—ugh! No, no; flap down your fifty. If we get the job, and it pays, I’ll hand it back; if we don’t, it’s for our trouble,—that’s far, an’t it, Marks?”

      “Certainly, certainly,” said Marks, with a conciliatory tone; “it’s only a retaining fee, you see,—he! he! he!—we lawyers, you know. Wal, we must all keep good-natured,—keep easy, yer know. Tom’ll have the boy for yer, anywhere ye’ll name; won’t ye, Tom?”

      “If I find the young un, I’ll bring him on to Cincinnati, and leave him at Granny Belcher’s, on the landing,” said Loker.

      Marks had got from his pocket a greasy pocket-book, and taking a long