Chapter 24: Page 4
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Well, the men gathered around and sympathized with them, and said all sorts of kind things to them, and carried their carpet-bags up the hill for them, and let them lean on them and cry, and told the king all about his brother’s last moments, and the king he told it all over again on his hands to the duke, and both of them took on about that dead tanner like they’d lost the twelve disciples. Well, if ever I struck anything like it, I’m a nigger. It was enough to make a body ashamed of the human race.
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Well, the men gathered around and sympathized with them, saying all sorts of kind words and letting them cry on them. The men carried the carpetbags up the hill and told the king all about his brother’s last moments. The king repeated it to the duke using his hands. Both of them cried and cried over that dead tanner as if they’d just lost the twelve disciples. Well, call me a n----- if I’ve ever seen anything like it. It was enough to make you ashamed of the whole human race.
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Chapter 25
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THE news was all over town in two minutes, and you could see the people tearing down on the run from every which way, some of them putting on their coats as they come. Pretty soon we was in the middle of a crowd, and the noise of the tramping was like a soldier march. The windows and dooryards was full; and every minute somebody would say, over a fence:
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The news was all over town in two minutes. You could see the people running down from every direction, some of them still putting on their coats as they came. You could hear the stamping of feet, which sounded like soldiers marching. Pretty soon, we were surrounded by a crowd. The windows and doors of the houses nearby were filled with people leaning out, and every minute someone would lean over a fence, and say:
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“Is it THEM?”
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“Is it THEM?”
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And somebody trotting along with the gang would answer back and say:
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And then someone running along with a bunch of other people would answer back:
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“You bet it is.”
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“You bet it is!”
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When we got to the house the street in front of it was packed, and the three girls was standing in the door. Mary Jane WAS red-headed, but that don’t make no difference, she was most awful beautiful, and her face and her eyes was all lit up like glory, she was so glad her uncles was come. The king he spread his arms, and Mary Jane she jumped for them, and the hare-lip jumped for the duke, and there they HAD it! Everybody most, leastways women, cried for joy to see them meet again at last and have such good times.
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When we got to the house the street in front of it was packed. The three girls were standing in the door. Mary Jane WAS a redhead, but that didn’t make any difference—she was very beautiful, and her face and eyes were all lit up like heaven. She was so glad her uncles had come. The king spread his arms, and Mary Jane jumped in them. The hare-lipped girl jumped for the duke, and they hugged too. Everyone—well, the women anyway—cried for joy to see them finally meet and on such a good occasion.
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Then the king he hunched the duke private—I see him do it—and then he looked around and see the coffin, over in the corner on two chairs; so then him and the duke, with a hand across each other’s shoulder, and t’other hand to their eyes, walked slow and solemn over there, everybody dropping back to give them room, and all the talk and noise stopping, people saying “Sh!” and all the men taking their hats off and drooping their heads, so you could a heard a pin fall. And when they got there they bent over and looked in the coffin, and took one sight, and then they bust out a-crying so you could a heard them to Orleans, most; and then they put their arms around each other’s necks, and hung their chins over each other’s shoulders; and then for three minutes, or maybe four, I never see two men leak the way they done. And, mind you, everybody was doing the same; and the place was that damp I never see anything like it. Then one of them got on one side of the coffin, and t’other on t’other side, and they kneeled down and rested their foreheads on the coffin, and let on to pray all to themselves. Well, when it come to that it worked the crowd like you never see anything like it, and everybody broke down and went to sobbing right out loud—the poor girls, too; and every woman, nearly, went up to the girls, without saying a word, and kissed them, solemn, on the forehead, and then put their hand on their head, and looked up towards the sky, with the tears running down, and then busted out and went off sobbing and swabbing, and give the next woman a show. I never see anything so disgusting.
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The king took the duke aside—I saw him do it—and he looked around and saw the coffin over in the corner on two chairs. So he and the duke, with a hand across each other’s shoulders and another over their eyes, walked slowly and solemnly over to the coffin. Everyone stepped back to give them room, and all the talk and noise stopped as people said, “Sh!” All the men took off their hats and drooped their heads, and it was so quiet you could have heard a pin drop. When they got there they bent over and looked in the coffin. They took one look, and then they burst into tears. They made such a fuss that you could have heard them down in New Orleans, I bet. Then they put their arms around each other’s necks and hung their chins over each other’s shoulders. They staid this way for three, maybe four, minutes, and I never saw two men cry like they did. And everyone else was doing the same, mind you. The place was so wet with tears—I’ve never seen anything like it. Then they each got on a different side of the coffin, kneeled down, rested their foreheads on the coffin, and pretended to pray to themselves. This little trick had an affect on the crowd unlike anything else, and everyone broke down sobbing out loud, even the poor girls. And nearly every woman went up to the girls and kissed them solemnly on the forehead without saying a word. Then she’d put her hand on their heads and look up toward the sky with tears running down her cheek before bursting into more tears and letting the next woman take a turn. I never saw anything so disgusting.
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Well, by and by the king he gets up and comes forward a little, and works himself up and slobbers out a speech, all full of tears and flapdoodle about its being a sore trial for him and his poor brother to lose the diseased, and to miss seeing diseased alive after the long journey of four thousand mile, but it’s a trial that’s sweetened and sanctified to us by this dear sympathy and these holy tears, and so he thanks them out of his heart and out of his brother’s heart, because out of their mouths they can’t, words being too weak and cold, and all that kind of rot and slush, till it was just sickening; and then he blubbers out a pious goody-goody Amen, and turns himself loose and goes to crying fit to bust.
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Well, pretty soon the king got up and stepped forward a little. He got himself all worked up and slobbered out a speech that was filled with tears and nonsense about how this was such a hard ordeal for him and his poor brother to lose the deceased and to have missed seeing him alive after such a long journey of four thousand miles. But, he said, it was a trial that was sweetened and sanctified by the sympathy of the townsfolk and the tears they shed. So, he thanked them from the bottom of his heart and his brother’s heart because he couldn’t find the right words. He went on with all that rot and garbage, and it was just sickening. And then he blubbered out a pious goody-goody Amen, and then really let loose with a crying fit.
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And the minute the words were out of his mouth somebody over in the crowd struck up the doxolojer, and everybody joined in with all their might, and it just warmed you up and made you feel as good as church letting out. Music is a good thing; and after all that soul-butter and hogwash I never see it freshen up things so, and sound so honest and bully.
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The minute the words were out of his mouth someone in the crowd started singing a doxology, and everyone joined in with all their might. It just warmed you up and made you feel just as good as if church were letting out. Music is a good thing. And it’s never sounded so pure and fresh than after all that soul buttering and hogwash.
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Then the king begins to work his jaw again, and says how him and his nieces would be glad if a few of the main principal friends of the family would take supper here with them this evening, and help set up with the ashes of the diseased; and says if his poor brother laying yonder could speak he knows who he would name, for they was names that was very dear to him, and mentioned often in his letters; and so he will name the same, to wit, as follows, vizz.:—Rev. Mr. Hobson, and Deacon Lot Hovey, and Mr. Ben Rucker, and Abner Shackleford, and Levi Bell, and Dr. Robinson, and their wives, and the widow Bartley.
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Then the king began to start talking again. He said how he and his nieces would be glad if a few of the deceased’s family and most important friends would have supper here with them this evening and help set everything up with the ashes of the deceased. He said that if his poor dead brother lying over there could speak he’d know who he’d name because they would be the names of those who were very dear to him and whom he mentioned often in his letters. And so the king said he’d name those same people: Rev. Mr. Hobson, Deacon Lot Hovey, Mr. Ben Rucker, Abner Shackleford, Levi Bell, Dr. Robinson, and all their wives, and the widow Bartley.
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Chapter 25: Page 2
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Rev. Hobson and Dr. Robinson was down to the end of the town a-hunting together—that is, I mean the doctor was shipping a sick man to t’other world, and the preacher was pinting him right. Lawyer Bell was away up to Louisville on business. But the rest was on hand, and so they all come and shook hands with the king and thanked him and talked to him; and then they shook hands with the duke and didn’t say nothing, but just kept a-smiling and bobbing their heads like a passel of sapheads whilst he made all sorts of signs with his hands and said “Goo-goo—goo-goo-goo” all the time, like a baby that can’t talk.
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Reverend Hobson and Dr. Robinson were down at the other end of town hunting together. What I mean is the doctor was helping a sick man pass into the next life, and the preacher was pointing him the way. Lawyer Bell was up in Louisville on business. But the rest of the people whose names the king had called out here here, so they all came and shook his hand and thanked him and talked to him. Then they shook hands with the duke and didn’t saying anything, but just kept on smiling and bobbing their heads like a bunch of morons while he made all sorts of signs with his hands and said, “Goo-goo. Goo-goo-goo,” like a baby that can’t talk.
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So the king he blattered along, and managed to inquire about pretty much everybody and dog in town, by his name, and mentioned all sorts of little things that happened one time or another in the town, or to George’s family, or to Peter. And he always let on that Peter wrote him the things; but that was a lie: he got every blessed one of them out of that young flathead that we canoed up to the steamboat.
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The king blathered on. He manged to ask about pretty much every person and dog in town by name. He mentioned all sorts of little things that had happened at one time or another in the town, or to George’s family or Peter. And he always pretended that Peter had written him about these things, though that was a lie, of course—he’d gotten every blessed one of those details out of that young idiot we’d taken in the canoe to the steamboat.
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Then Mary Jane she fetched the letter her father left behind, and the king he read it out loud and cried over it. It give the dwelling-house and three thousand dollars, gold, to the girls; and it give the tanyard (which was doing a good business), along with some other houses and land (worth about seven thousand), and three thousand dollars in gold to Harvey and William, and told where the six thousand cash was hid down cellar. So these two frauds said they’d go and fetch it up, and have everything square and above-board; and told me to come with a candle. We shut the cellar door behind us, and when they found the bag they spilt it out on the floor, and it was a lovely sight, all them yaller-boys. My, the way the king’s eyes did shine! He slaps the duke on the shoulder and says:
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Then Mary Jane brought the letter her father had left behind. The king read it aloud and cried over it. The letter said he gave the house and three thousand dollars in gold to the girls. He gave William and Harvey the tanyard (which had been doing a good business) along with three thousand dollars in gold and some other houses and land worth about seven thousand dollars. It also said where the six thousand dollars in cash was hidden down in the cellar. So they two frauds said they’d go down and bring it up so that everything was square and on the level. They told me to come with them and bring a candle. We shut the cellar door behind us. They found the bag and spilled its contents out on the floor. It was lovely to see all those yellow coins. My, the way the king’s eyes did shine! He slapped the duke on the shoulder and said:
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“Oh, THIS ain’t bully nor noth’n! Oh, no, I reckon not! Why, Billy, it beats the Nonesuch, DON’T it?”
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“Oh have you ever seen anything better than THIS? I bet not! Why, Billy, it beats the Nonesuch scam, DOESN’T it?
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The duke allowed it did. They pawed the yaller-boys, and sifted them through their fingers and let them jingle down on the floor; and the king says:
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The duke agreed. They pawed the gold coins and sifted through them with their fingers and let them jingle on the floor. Then the king said:
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“It ain’t no use talkin’; bein’ brothers to a rich dead man and representatives of furrin heirs that’s got left is the line for you and me, Bilge. Thish yer comes of trust’n to Providence. It’s the best way, in the long run. I’ve tried ’em all, and ther’ ain’t no better way.”
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“It’s no use talking. Being brothers to a dead rich man and representatives of heirs to a fortune built on furs that have nothing left of their family line except for you and me, Bilge. We’ve been rewarded for trusting in Providence. It’s the best way, in the long run. I’ve tried all the scams out there, and there isn’t one better than this.”
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Most everybody would a been satisfied with the pile, and took it on trust; but no, they must count it. So they counts it, and it comes out four hundred and fifteen dollars short. Says the king:
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Most people would have been satisfied with this pile of gold and trusted that it was all there. But these two had to count it. So they counted it and it came out four hundred and fifteen dollars short. The king said:
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“Dern him, I wonder what he done with that four hundred and fifteen dollars?”
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“Darn him, I wonder what he did with that four hundred and fifteen dollars?”
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They worried over that awhile, and ransacked all around for it. Then the duke says:
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They thought about that for a while, and ransacked the cellar looking for it. Then the duke said:
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“Well, he was a pretty sick man, and likely he made a mistake—I reckon that’s the way of it. The best way’s to let it go, and keep still about it. We can spare it.”
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“Well, he was a pretty sick man, and he probably just made a mistake. I bet that’s what happened. The best thing to do is to just let it go and not say anything about it. We don’t need it.”
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“Oh, shucks, yes, we can SPARE it. I don’t k’yer noth’n ’bout that—it’s the COUNT I’m thinkin’ about. We want to be awful square and open and above-board here, you know. We want to lug this h-yer money up stairs and count it before everybody—then ther’ ain’t noth’n suspicious. But when the dead man says ther’s six thous’n dollars, you know, we don’t want to—”
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“Oh, sure, we don’t NEED it. I don’t care anything about that. It’s the COUNT that I’m thinking about. We want to be completely square and open and on the level here, you know. We want to lug this bag of money up stairs and count it in front of everyone so that there won’t be any suspicion. But since the dead man said there’d be six thousand dollars, you know, we don’t want to….”
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“Hold on,” says the duke. “Le’s make up the deffisit,” and he begun to haul out yaller-boys out of his pocket.
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“Hold on,” said the duke. “Let’s just make up the difference.” He began to pull gold coins out of his pocket.
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“It’s a most amaz’n’ good idea, duke—you HAVE got a rattlin’ clever head on you,” says the king. “Blest if the old Nonesuch ain’t a heppin’ us out agin,” and HE begun to haul out yaller-jackets and stack them up.
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“That’s an excellent idea, duke—you HAVE got a pretty clever head on your shoulders,” said the king. “Great that the old Nonesuch scam is helping us out again.” Then HE began to take some gold coins out of his pockets and stack them up.
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It most busted them, but they made up the six thousand clean and clear.
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It nearly made them broke, but they were able to come up with the difference to make an even six thousand.
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“Say,” says the duke, “I got another idea. Le’s go up stairs and count this money, and then take and GIVE IT TO THE GIRLS.”
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“Hey,” said the duke. “I’ve got another idea. Let’s go upstairs and count this money, and then take and GIVE IT TO THE GIRLS.”
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Chapter 25: Page 3
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“Good land, duke, lemme hug you! It’s the most dazzling idea ’at ever a man struck. You have cert’nly got the most astonishin’ head I ever see. Oh, this is the boss dodge, ther’ ain’t no mistake ’bout it. Let ’em fetch along their suspicions now if they want to—this ’ll lay ’em out.”
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“My goodness, duke! Come here, and let me give you a hug! That’s the best idea anyone has ever come up with. You certainly do have the best brain I’ve ever encountered. Oh, this is the best scheme we’ve ever come up with, no doubt about it. This will put them at ease—let them just try and be suspicious of us now.”
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When we got up-stairs everybody gethered around the table, and the king he counted it and stacked it up, three hundred dollars in a pile—twenty elegant little piles. Everybody looked hungry at it, and licked their chops. Then they raked it into the bag again, and I see the king begin to swell himself up for another speech. He says:
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When we got back upstairs, everyone gathered around the table and the king counted and stacked it all up into twenty elegant little piles with three hundred dollars per pile. Everyone looked hungrily at it all and licked their lips. Then they shoveled it back into the bag, and I saw that the king was buffing his chest in preparation for another speech. He said:
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“Friends all, my poor brother that lays yonder has done generous by them that’s left behind in the vale of sorrers. He has done generous by these yer poor little lambs that he loved and sheltered, and that’s left fatherless and motherless. Yes, and we that knowed him knows that he would a done MORE generous by ’em if he hadn’t ben afeard o’ woundin’ his dear William and me. Now, WOULDN’T he? Ther’ ain’t no question ’bout it in MY mind. Well, then, what kind o’ brothers would it be that ’d stand in his way at sech a time? And what kind o’ uncles would it be that ’d rob—yes, ROB—sech poor sweet lambs as these ’at he loved so at sech a time? If I know William—and I THINK I do—he—well, I’ll jest ask him.” He turns around and begins to make a lot of signs to the duke with his hands, and the duke he looks at him stupid and leather-headed a while; then all of a sudden he seems to catch his meaning, and jumps for the king, goo-gooing with all his might for joy, and hugs him about fifteen times before he lets up. Then the king says, “I knowed it; I reckon THAT’ll convince anybody the way HE feels about it. Here, Mary Jane, Susan, Joanner, take the money—take it ALL. It’s the gift of him that lays yonder, cold but joyful.”
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“Friends, my poor brother that lies over there has been very generous to those he left behind in their sadness. He has been generous to these poor little lambs that he loved and sheltered, the girls who are now fatherless and motherless. Yes, and those of us who knew him know that he would have been even more generous if he hadn’t been afraid of doing an injustice to his dear brothers William and me. Wouldn’t he? There isn’t a question about it in my mind. Well, then, what kind of brothers would we be if we stood in his way during such a difficult time? And what kind of uncles would we be if we robbed—yes ROBBED—such poor sweet lambs as these girls that he loved so dearly? If I know William—and I THINK I do—he… well, I’ll just ask him.” He turned around and began to make a lot of signs to the duke with his hands, and the duke just looked back at him stupidly for a while. Then all of a sudden he pretended to understand the king. He jumped for the king, goo-gooing with all his might, and hugged him about fifteen times before letting go. Then the king said, “I knew it. I reckon THAT will convince everyone of the way HE feels about it. Here, Mary Jane, Susan, Joanna—take the money, take it ALL. It’s a gift from him that lies over there, dead but happy.”
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Mary Jane she went for him, Susan and the hare-lip went for the duke, and then such another hugging and kissing I never see yet. And everybody crowded up with the tears in their eyes, and most shook the hands off of them frauds, saying all the time:
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Mary Jane moved toward him, and Susan and Joanna, the girl with the harelip, went for the duke. There was more hugging and kissing than I’d ever seen before. Everyone crowded around them with tears in their eyes. Most shook hands with those two frauds, constantly saying:
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“You DEAR good souls!—how LOVELY!—how COULD you!”
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“You DEAR good souls! How LOVELY! How CAN you be so kind?”
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Well, then, pretty soon all hands got to talking about the diseased again, and how good he was, and what a loss he was, and all that; and before long a big iron-jawed man worked himself in there from outside, and stood a-listening and looking, and not saying anything; and nobody saying anything to him either, because the king was talking and they was all busy listening. The king was saying—in the middle of something he’d started in on—
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Pretty soon after everyone got to talking about the deceased again. They talked about how good he was, and what a loss it was that he’d died, and all that. Before too long, a big iron-jawed man worked his way into the crowd from outside. He stood there listening, watching the scene, and not saying a word, and no one said anything to him either, since the king was talking and everyone was busy listening. The king was in the middle of saying something:
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“—they bein’ partickler friends o’ the diseased. That’s why they’re invited here this evenin’; but tomorrow we want ALL to come—everybody; for he respected everybody, he liked everybody, and so it’s fitten that his funeral orgies sh’d be public.”
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“… they being particularly good friends with the deceased. That’s why they’re invited here this evening. But tomorrow we want ALL of you to come—everyone of you, because he respected everyone, liked everyone, and so it’s only fitting that his funeral orgies should be made public.
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And so he went a-mooning on and on, liking to hear himself talk, and every little while he fetched in his funeral orgies again, till the duke he couldn’t stand it no more; so he writes on a little scrap of paper, “OBSEQUIES, you old fool,” and folds it up, and goes to goo-gooing and reaching it over people’s heads to him. The king he reads it and puts it in his pocket, and says:
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He kept blathering on, enjoying the sound of his own voice, bringing up the funeral orgies every now and then until the duke couldn’t stand it any more. He wrote, “It’s OBSEQUIES, not orgies, you old fool” on a little piece of scrap paper, folded it up, and went goo-gooing through the crowd. He reached over people’s heads to hand it to the king, who read it, put it in his pocket, and said:
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“Poor William, afflicted as he is, his HEART’S aluz right. Asks me to invite everybody to come to the funeral—wants me to make ’em all welcome. But he needn’t a worried—it was jest what I was at.”
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“Poor William. Handicaped as he is, his HEART is always in the right place. He asked me to invite everyone to come to the funeral—He wants me to make you all feel welcome. But he needn’t have worried, because I was just about to do that.”
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Then he weaves along again, perfectly ca’m, and goes to dropping in his funeral orgies again every now and then, just like he done before. And when he done it the third time he says:
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Then he started talking again, perfectly calm, and he would go back to the funeral orgies every now and then, just as he’d done before. When he said it incorrectly the third time, he added:
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“I say orgies, not because it’s the common term, because it ain’t—obsequies bein’ the common term—but because orgies is the right term. Obsequies ain’t used in England no more now—it’s gone out. We say orgies now in England. Orgies is better, because it means the thing you’re after more exact. It’s a word that’s made up out’n the Greek ORGO, outside, open, abroad; and the Hebrew JEESUM, to plant, cover up; hence inTER. So, you see, funeral orgies is an open er public funeral.”
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“I say orgies not because it’s the word that is normally used—that would be obsequies—but because orgies is the proper term. Obsequies aren’t used in England anymore—it’s gone out of fashion. Now we say orgies. Orgies is a better term because it more precisely captures the sentiment of what we want. It’s a word that comes from the Greek word ORGO, which means outside or open or abroad, and the Hebrew word JEESUM, which means to plant, cover up, or inter. So, you see, funeral orgies are simply open, public funerals.”
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