Adventures of Huckleberry Finn
The crowd washed back sudden, and then broke all apart, and went
tearing off every which way, and Buck Harkness he heeled it after them,
looking tolerable cheap. I could a staid if I wanted to, but I didn’t
want to.
I went to the circus and loafed around the back side till the watchman
went by, and then dived in under the tent. I had my twenty-dollar gold
piece and some other money, but I reckoned I better save it, because
there ain’t no telling how soon you are going to need it, away from
home and amongst strangers that way. You can’t be too careful. I ain’t
opposed to spending money on circuses when there ain’t no other way,
but there ain’t no use in _wasting_ it on them.
It was a real bully circus. It was the splendidest sight that ever was
when they all come riding in, two and two, a gentleman and lady, side
by side, the men just in their drawers and undershirts, and no shoes
nor stirrups, and resting their hands on their thighs easy and
comfortable—there must a been twenty of them—and every lady with a
lovely complexion, and perfectly beautiful, and looking just like a
gang of real sure-enough queens, and dressed in clothes that cost
millions of dollars, and just littered with diamonds. It was a powerful
fine sight; I never see anything so lovely. And then one by one they
got up and stood, and went a-weaving around the ring so gentle and wavy
and graceful, the men looking ever so tall and airy and straight, with
their heads bobbing and skimming along, away up there under the
tent-roof, and every lady’s rose-leafy dress flapping soft and silky
around her hips, and she looking like the most loveliest parasol.
And then faster and faster they went, all of them dancing, first one
foot out in the air and then the other, the horses leaning more and
more, and the ring-master going round and round the center-pole,
cracking his whip and shouting “Hi!—hi!” and the clown cracking jokes
behind him; and by-and-by all hands dropped the reins, and every lady
put her knuckles on her hips and every gentleman folded his arms, and
then how the horses did lean over and hump themselves! And so one after
the other they all skipped off into the ring, and made the sweetest bow
I ever see, and then scampered out, and everybody clapped their hands
and went just about wild.
Well, all through the circus they done the most astonishing things; and
all the time that clown carried on so it most killed the people. The
ring-master couldn’t ever say a word to him but he was back at him quick
as a wink with the funniest things a body ever said; and how he ever
_could_ think of so many of them, and so sudden and so pat, was what I
couldn’t noway understand. Why, I couldn’t a thought of them in a year.
And by-and-by a drunk man tried to get into the ring—said he wanted to
ride; said he could ride as well as anybody that ever was. They argued
and tried to keep him out, but he wouldn’t listen, and the whole show
come to a standstill. Then the people begun to holler at him and make
fun of him, and that made him mad, and he begun to rip and tear; so
that stirred up the people, and a lot of men begun to pile down off of
the benches and swarm towards the ring, saying, “Knock him down! throw
him out!” and one or two women begun to scream. So, then, the
ring-master he made a little speech, and said he hoped there wouldn’t be
no disturbance, and if the man would promise he wouldn’t make no more
trouble he would let him ride if he thought he could stay on the horse.
So everybody laughed and said all right, and the man got on. The minute
he was on, the horse begun to rip and tear and jump and cavort around,
with two circus men hanging on to his bridle trying to hold him, and
the drunk man hanging on to his neck, and his heels flying in the air
every jump, and the whole crowd of people standing up shouting and
laughing till tears rolled down. And at last, sure enough, all the
circus men could do, the horse broke loose, and away he went like the
very nation, round and round the ring, with that sot laying down on him
and hanging to his neck, with first one leg hanging most to the ground
on one side, and then t’other one on t’other side, and the people just
crazy. It warn’t funny to me, though; I was all of a tremble to see his
danger. But pretty soon he struggled up astraddle and grabbed the
bridle, a-reeling this way and that; and the next minute he sprung up
and dropped the bridle and stood! and the horse a-going like a house
afire too. He just stood up there, a-sailing around as easy and
comfortable as if he warn’t ever drunk in his life—and then he begun to
pull off his clothes and sling them. He shed them so thick they kind of
clogged up the air, and altogether he shed seventeen suits. And, then,
there he was, slim and handsome, and dressed the gaudiest and prettiest
you ever saw, and he lit into that horse with his whip and made him
fairly hum—and finally skipped off, and made his bow and danced off to
the dressing-room, and everybody just a-howling with pleasure and
astonishment.
Then the ring-master he see how he had been fooled, and he _was_ the
sickest ring-master you ever see, I reckon. Why, it was one of his own
men! He had got up that joke all out of his own head, and never let on
to nobody. Well, I felt sheepish enough to be took in so, but I
wouldn’t a been in that ring-master’s place, not for a thousand dollars.
I don’t know; there may be bullier circuses than what that one was, but
I never struck them yet. Anyways, it was plenty good enough for _me;_
and wherever I run across it, it can have all of _my_ custom every
time.
Well, that night we had _our_ show; but there warn’t only about twelve
people there—just enough to pay expenses. And they laughed all the
time, and that made the duke mad; and everybody left, anyway, before
the show was over, but one boy which was asleep. So the duke said these
Arkansaw lunkheads couldn’t come up to Shakespeare; what they wanted
was low comedy—and maybe something ruther worse than low comedy, he
reckoned. He said he could size their style. So next morning he got
some big sheets of wrapping paper and some black paint, and drawed off
some handbills, and stuck them up all over the village. The bills said:
AT THE COURT HOUSE!
FOR 3 NIGHTS ONLY!
_The World-Renowned Tragedians_
DAVID GARRICK THE YOUNGER!
AND
EDMUND KEAN THE ELDER!
_Of the London and Continental
Theatres_,
In their Thrilling Tragedy of
THE KING’S CAMELOPARD
OR
THE ROYAL NONESUCH!!!
_Admission 50 cents_.
Then at the bottom was the biggest line of all—which said:
LADIES AND CHILDREN NOT ADMITTED.
“There,” says he, “if that line don’t fetch them, I dont know
Arkansaw!”
CHAPTER XXIII.
Well, all day him and the king was hard at it, rigging up a stage and a
curtain and a row of candles for footlights; and that night the house
was jam full of men in no time. When the place couldn’t hold no more,
the duke he quit tending door and went around the back way and come on
to the stage and stood up before the curtain and made a little speech,
and praised up this tragedy, and said it was the most thrillingest one
that ever was; and so he went on a-bragging about the tragedy, and
about Edmund Kean the Elder, which was to play the main principal part
in it; and at last when he’d got everybody’s expectations up high
enough, he rolled up the curtain, and the next minute the king come
a-prancing out on all fours, naked; and he was painted all over,
ring-streaked-and-striped, all sorts of colors, as splendid as a
rainbow. And—but never mind the rest of his outfit; it was just wild,
but it was awful funny. The people most killed themselves laughing; and
when the king got done capering and capered off behind the scenes, they
roared and clapped and stormed and haw-hawed till he come back and done
it over again, and after that they made him do it another time. Well,
it would make a cow laugh to see the shines that old idiot cut.
Then the duke he lets the curtain down, and bows to the people, and
says the great tragedy will be performed only two nights more, on
accounts of pressing London engagements, where the seats is all sold
already for it in Drury Lane; and then he makes them another bow, and
says if he has succeeded in pleasing them and instructing them, he will
be deeply obleeged if they will mention it to their friends and get
them to come and see it.
Twenty people sings out:
“What, is it over? Is that _all?_”
The duke says yes. Then there was a fine time. Everybody sings out,
“Sold!” and rose up mad, and was a-going for that stage and them
tragedians. But a big, fine looking man jumps up on a bench and shouts:
“Hold on! Just a word, gentlemen.” They stopped to listen. “We are
sold—mighty badly sold. But we don’t want to be the laughing stock of
this whole town, I reckon, and never hear the last of this thing as
long as we live. _No_. What we want is to go out of here quiet, and
talk this show up, and sell the _rest_ of the town! Then we’ll all be
in the same boat. Ain’t that sensible?” (“You bet it is!—the jedge is
right!” everybody sings out.) “All right, then—not a word about any
sell. Go along home, and advise everybody to come and see the tragedy.”
Next day you couldn’t hear nothing around that town but how splendid
that show was. House was jammed again that night, and we sold this
crowd the same way. When me and the king and the duke got home to the
raft we all had a supper; and by-and-by, about midnight, they made Jim
and me back her out and float her down the middle of the river, and
fetch her in and hide her about two mile below town.
The third night the house was crammed again—and they warn’t new-comers
this time, but people that was at the show the other two nights. I
stood by the duke at the door, and I see that every man that went in
had his pockets bulging, or something muffled up under his coat—and I
see it warn’t no perfumery, neither, not by a long sight. I smelt
sickly eggs by the barrel, and rotten cabbages, and such things; and if
I know the signs of a dead cat being around, and I bet I do, there was
sixty-four of them went in. I shoved in there for a minute, but it was
too various for me; I couldn’t stand it. Well, when the place couldn’t
hold no more people the duke he give a fellow a quarter and told him to
tend door for him a minute, and then he started around for the stage
door, I after him; but the minute we turned the corner and was in the
dark he says:
“Walk fast now till you get away from the houses, and then shin for the
raft like the dickens was after you!”
I done it, and he done the same. We struck the raft at the same time,
and in less than two seconds we was gliding down stream, all dark and
still, and edging towards the middle of the river, nobody saying a
word. I reckoned the poor king was in for a gaudy time of it with the
audience, but nothing of the sort; pretty soon he crawls out from under
the wigwam, and says:
“Well, how’d the old thing pan out this time, duke?”
He hadn’t been up town at all.
We never showed a light till we was about ten mile below the village.
Then we lit up and had a supper, and the king and the duke fairly
laughed their bones loose over the way they’d served them people. The
duke says:
“Greenhorns, flatheads! _I_ knew the first house would keep mum and let
the rest of the town get roped in; and I knew they’d lay for us the
third night, and consider it was _their_ turn now. Well, it _is_ their
turn, and I’d give something to know how much they’d take for it. I
_would_ just like to know how they’re putting in their opportunity.
They can turn it into a picnic if they want to—they brought plenty
provisions.”
Them rapscallions took in four hundred and sixty-five dollars in that