Tom Sawyer Abroad.
Mark Twain
eBook
Do you reckon Tom Sawyer was satisfied after all them adventures? I mean the adventures we had down the river the time we set the nigger Jim free and Tom got shot in the leg. No, he wasn't. It only just p'isoned him for more. That was all the effects it had. You see, when we three came back up the river in glory, as you may say, from that long travel, and the village received us with a torchlight procession and speeches, and everybody hurrah'd and shouted, and some got drunk, it made us heroes, and that was what Tom Sawyer had always been hankerin' to be.For a while he was satisfied. Everybody made much of him, and he tilted up his nose and stepped around the town as though he owned it. Some called him Tom Sawyer the Traveler, and that just swelled him up fit to bust. You see, he laid over me and Jim considerable, because we only went down the river on a raft and came back by the steamboat, but Tom went by the steamboat both ways. The boys envied me and Jim a good deal, but land! they just knuckled to the dirt before Tom.Well, I don't know; maybe he might have been satisfied if it hadn't been for old Nat Parsons, which was postmaster, and powerful long and slim, and kind of good-hearted, and silly, and bald-headed, on accounts of his age, and 'most about the talkiest old animal I ever see. For as much as thirty years he'd been the only man in the village that had a ruputation—I mean a ruputation for being a traveler—and of course he was mortal proud of it, and it was reckoned that in the course of that thirty years he had told about that journey over a million times, and enjoyed it every time; and now comes along a boy not quite fifteen and sets everybody gawking and admiring over his travels, and it just give the poor old thing the jim-jams. It made him sick to listen to Tom, and to hear the people say "My land!" "Did you ever?" "My goodness sakes alive!" and all them sorts of things; but he couldn't pull away from it, any more than a fly that's got its hind leg fast in the molasses. And always when Tom come to a rest, the poor old cretur would chip in on his same old travels and work them for all they were worth; but they was pretty faded and didn't go for much, and it was pitiful to see. And then Tom would take another innings, and then the old man again—and so on, and so on, for an hour and more, each trying to sweat out the other.This edition includes:- A complete biography of Mark Twain.- Table of contents with directs links to chapters.