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"All right if you say it, Huck, but you ought to have the credit of what you did." "Oh no, no! Please don't tell!" When the young men were gone, the old Welshman said: "They won't tell and I won't. But why don't you want it known?"
It can't be under the rock itself, because that sets solid on the ground." They searched everywhere once more, and then sat down discouraged. Huck could suggest nothing. By-and-by Tom said: "Lookyhere, Huck, there's footprints and some candle-grease on the clay about one side of this rock, but not on the other sides. Now, what's that for? I bet you the money IS under the rock.
Well, we went out in the woods on the hill, and Tom told us what it was. It was a crusade. "What's a crusade?" I says. He looked scornful, the way he's always done when he was ashamed of a person, and says: "Huck Finn, do you mean to tell me you don't know what a crusade is?" "No," says I, "I don't. And I don't care to, nuther. I've lived till now and done without it, and had my health, too.
"How you talk, Huck Finn. Why, you'd HAVE to come when he rubbed it, whether you wanted to or not." "What! and I as high as a tree and as big as a church? All right, then; I WOULD come; but I lay I'd make that man climb the highest tree there was in the country." "Shucks, it ain't no use to talk to you, Huck Finn. You don't seem to know anything, somehow perfect saphead."
And take Huck Finn's description of the storm when he was alone on the island, which is in dialect, which will not parse, which bristles with double negatives, but which none the less is one of the finest passages of descriptive prose in all American literature. After all, it is as a humorist pure and simple that Mark Twain is best known and best beloved.
I sold him 'Robinson Crusoe, and 'Little Women' for his daughter, and 'Huck Finn, and Grubb's book about 'The Potato. Last time I was there he wanted some Shakespeare, but I wouldn't give it to him. I didn't think he was up to it yet." I began to see something of the little man's idealism in his work. He was a kind of traveling missionary in his way. A hefty talker, too.
"Yas, they took off their dead or wounded, as ther case might be, and halted ter rest after climbin' up here, and right here is whar they laid the dead or wounded down, while they was restin'." "Well, which way now, Huck, for your solution seems the right one," said Doctor Dick. "That's hard ter tell, for a horse wouldn't leave no track here," was the reply.
The "castors" at both ends and in the middle were the ugliest Hiram was sure to be found in all the city of Crawberry. The crockery was of the coarsest kind. The knives and forks were antediluvian. The napkins were as coarse as huck towels. But Mrs. Atterson's food considering the cost of provisions and the charge she made for her table was very good.
Finally Huck leaned on his shovel, swabbed the beaded drops from his brow with his sleeve, and said: "Where you going to dig next, after we get this one?" "I reckon maybe we'll tackle the old tree that's over yonder on Cardiff Hill back of the widow's." "I reckon that'll be a good one. But won't the widow take it away from us, Tom? It's on her land." "SHE take it away!
It was the treasure-box, sure enough, occupying a snug little cavern, along with an empty powder-keg, a couple of guns in leather cases, two or three pairs of old moccasins, a leather belt, and some other rubbish well soaked with the water-drip. "Got it at last!" said Huck, ploughing among the tarnished coins with his hand. "My, but we're rich, Tom!" "Huck, I always reckoned we'd get it.
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