If you thought the store closures and bankruptcies in 2022 were surprising… you haven't seen anything yet.
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Few Americans even know that any of this is happening…
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Those who do know don't have a clue what to do about it, or how to prepare for what's next.
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If you're worried about this situation and its implications for American society, I strongly urge you to listen to this message. | |
Which dominoes are the next to fall and what can you do to prepare?
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I had shut the door to. Then I turned around, and t he was. I used to be scared of him the time, he tanned me so much. I reckoned I was scared , too; but in a minute I see I was mistaken—that is, after the first jolt, as you may say, when my breath sort of hitched, he being so unexpected; but right away after I see I warn't scared of him worth bothring about. He was most fifty, and he looked it. His hair was long and tangled and greasy, and hung down, and you could see his eyes shining through like he was behind vines. It was black, no gray; so was his long, mixed-up whiskers. T warn't no color in his face, w his face showed; it was white; not like another man's white, but a white to make a body sick, a white to make a body's flesh crawl—a treetoad white, a fish-belly white. As for his clothes—just rags, that was . He had one ankle resting on t'other knee; the boot on that foot was busted, and two of his toes stuck through, and he worked them and then. His hat was laying on the floor—an old black slouch with the top caved in, like a lid. I stood a-looking at him; he set t a-looking at me, with his chair tilted back a little. I set the candle down. I noticed the dow was up; so he had clumb in by the shed. He kept a-looking me over. By and by he says: Starchy clothes—very. You think you're a good of a big-bug, don't you? Maybe I am, maybe I ain't, I says. Don't you give me none o' your lip, says he. You've put on conCHAPTER FIVE 20 siderable many frills since I been away. I'll take you down a peg before I done with you. You're educated, too, they say—can read and write. You think you're better'n your father, , don't you, because he can't? i'll take it out of you. Who told you you might meddle with such hifalut'n foolishness, hey?—who told you you could? The widow. She told me. The widow, hey?—and who told the widow she could put in her shovel about a thing that ain't none of her business? Nobody told her. Well, I'll learn her how to meddle. And looky —you drop that school, you hear? I'll learn people to bring up a boy to put on airs over his own father and let on to be better'n what HE is. You lemme catch you fooling around that school again, you hear? Your mother couldn't read, and she couldn't write, nuther, before she died. None of the family couldn't before they died. I can't; and you're a-swelling yourself up like this. I ain't the man to stand it—you hear? Say, lemme hear you read. I took up a book and begun something about General Washington and the wars. When I'd read about a half a minute, he fetched the book a whack with his hand and knocked it across the house. He says: It's so. You can do it. I had my doubts when you told me. looky ; you that putting on frills. I 't have it. I'll lay for you, my smarty; and if I catch you about that school I'll tan you good. First you k you'll religion, too. I see such a son. He took up a little blue and yer picture of some cows and a boy, and says: What's this? It's something they give me for learning my lessons good. He tore it up, and says: I'll give you something better—I'll give you a cowhide. He set t a-mumbling and a-growling a minute, and then he says: Ain't you a sweet-scented dandy, though? A bed; and bedclothes; and a look'n'-glass; and a piece of carpet on the floor—and your own HUCKLEBERRY FINN 21 father got to sleep with the hogs in the tanyard. I see such a son. I bet I'll take some o' these frills out o' you before I'm done with you. Why, t ain't no end to your airs—they say you're rich. Hey?—how's that? They lie—that's how. Looky —mind how you talk to me; I'm a-standing about I can stand —so don't gimme no sass. I've been in town two days, and I hain't heard nothing but about you bein' rich. I heard about it away down the river, too. That's why I come. You git me that tomorrow—I want it. I hain't got no . It's a lie. Judge Thatcher's got it. You git it. I want it. I hain't got no , I tell you. You ask Judge Thatcher; he'll tell you the same. right. I'll ask him; and I'll make him pungle, too, or I'll k the reason why. Say, how much you got in your pocket? I want it. I hain't got a dollar, and I want that to— It don't make no difference what you want it for—you just shell it out. He took it and bit it to see if it was good, and then he said he was going down town to some whisky; said he hadn't had a drink day. When he had got out on the shed he put his head in again, and cussed me for putting on frills and trying to be better than him; and when I reckoned he was gone he come back and put his head in again, and told me to mind about that school, because he was going to lay for me and lick me if I didn't drop that. Next day he was drunk, and he went to Judge Thatcher's and bullyragged him, and tried to make him give up the ; but he couldn't, and then he swore he'd make the law force him. The judge and the widow went to law to the court to take me away from him and let one of them be my guardian; but it was a judge that had just come, and he didn't k the old man; so he said courts mustn't interfere and separate families if they could help it; said he'd druther not take a child away from its father. So Judge Thatcher and the widow had to quit on the business. That d the old man till he couldn't rest. He said he'd cowhide me till I was black and blue if I didn't raise some for him. I borrowed three from Judge Thatcher, and pap took it and got drunk, and went a-blog around and cussing and whooping and carrying on; and he kept it up over town, with a tin pan, till most midnight; then they jailed him, and next day they had him before court, and jailed him again for a week. But he said he was satisfied; said he was of his son, and he'd make it warm for him. When he got out the judge said he was a-going to make a man of him. So he took him to his own house, and dressed him up clean and nice, and had him to break and dinner and supper with the family, and was just old pie to him, so to speak. And after supper he talked to him about temperance and such things till the old man cried, and said he'd been a fool, and fooled away his ; but he was a-going to turn over a leaf and be a man nobody wouldn't be ashamed of, and he hoped the judge would help him and not look down on him. The judge said he could hug him for them words; so he cried, and his she cried again; pap said he'd been a man that had always been misunderstood before, and the judge said he believed it. The old man said that what a man wanted that was down was sympathy, and the judge said it was so; so they cried again. And when it was bedtime the old man rose up and held out his hand, and says: Look at it, gentlemen and ladies ; take a-hold of it; shake it. T's a hand that was the hand of a hog; but it ain't so no more; it's the hand of a man that's started in on a , and'll die before he'll go back. You mark them words—don't for I said them. It's a clean hand ; shake it—don't be afeard. So they shook it, one after the other, around, and cried. The judge's she kissed it. Then the old man he signed a pledge— made his mark. The judge said it was the holiest time on record, or something like that. Then they tucked the old man into a beautiful room, which was the spare room, and in the night some time he got powerful thirsty and clumb out on to the porch-roof and slid down a stanchion and traded his coat for a jug of forty-rod, and clumb back again and had a good old time; and towards daylight he crawled out again, drunk as a fiddler, and rolled the porch and broke his left arm in two places, and was most froze to death when somebody found him after sun-up. And when they come to look at that spare room they had to take soundings before they could navigate it. The judge he felt kind of sore. He said he reckoned a body could reform the old man with a shotgun, maybe, but he didn't k no other way. Well, pretty the old man was up and around again, and then he went for Judge Thatcher in the courts to make him give up that , and he went for me, too, for not ping school. He catched me a couple of times and thrashed me, but I went to school just the same, and dodged him or outrun him most of the time. I didn't want to go to school much before, but I reckoned I'd go to spite pap. That law was a slow business—appeared like they warn't ever going to started on it; so every and then I'd borrow two or three of the judge for him, to keep from ting a cowhiding. Every time he got he got drunk; and every time he got drunk he raised Cain around town; and every time he raised Cain he got jailed. He was just suited—this kind of thing was right in his line. He got to hanging around the widow's too much and so she told him at last that if he didn't quit using around t she would make trouble for him. Well, wasn't he mad? He said he would show who was Huck Finn's . So he watched out for me one day in the spring, and catched me, and took me up the river about three mile in a skiff, and crossed over to the Illinois shore w it was woody and t warn't no houses but an old log hut in a place w the timber was so thick you couldn't find it if you didn't k w it was. He kept me with him the time, and I got a to run . We lived in that old cabin, and he always locked the door and put the key under his head nights. He had a gun which he had stole, I reckon, and we fished and hunted, and that was what we lived on. Every little while he locked me in and went down to the store, three miles, to the ferry, and traded fish and game for whisky, and fetched it and got drunk and had a good time, and licked me. The widow she found out w I was by and by, and she sent a man over to try to hold of me; but pap drove him with the gun, and it warn't long after that till I was used to being w I was, and liked it— but the cowhide part. It was kind of lazy and jolly, laying comfortable day, smoking and fishing, and no books nor study. Two months or more run along, and my clothes got to be rags and dirt, and I didn't see how I'd ever got to like it so well at the widow's, w you had to wash, and eat on a plate, and comb up, and go to bed and up regular, and be forever bothering over a book, and have old Miss Watson pecking at you the time. I didn't want to go back no more. I had ped cussing, because the widow didn't like it; but I took to it again because pap hadn't no objections. It was pretty good times up in the woods t, take it around. But by and by pap got too handy with his hick'ry, and I couldn't stand it. I was over welts. He got to going away so much, too, and locking me in. Once he locked me in and was gone three days. It was dreadful lonesome. I judged he had got drowned, and I wasn't ever going to out any more. I was scared. I made up my mind I would fix up some way to t. I had tried to out of that cabin many a time, but I couldn't find no way. T warn't a dow to it big enough for a dog to through. I couldn't up the chimbly; it was too narrow. The door was thick, solid oak slabs. Pap was pretty careful not to a knife or anything in the cabin when he was away; I reckon I had hunted the place over as much as a hundred times; well, I was most the time at it, because it was about the way to put in the time. But this time I found something at last; I found an old rusty wood-saw without any handle; it was laid in between a rafter and the clapboards of the roof. I greased it up and went to work. T was an old horse-blanket nailed against the logs at the far end of the cabin behind the table, to keep the d from blog through the chinks and putting the candle out. I got under the table and raised the blanket, and went to work to saw a section of the big bottom log out—big enough to let me through. Well, it was a good long job, but I was ting towards the end of it when I heard pap's gun in the woods. I got rid of the signs of my work, and dropped the blanket and hid my saw, and pretty pap come in. Pap warn't in a good humor—so he was his natural self. He said he was down town, and everything was going wrong. His lawyer said he reckoned he would his lawsuit and the if they ever got started on the ; but then t was ways to put it a long time, and Judge Thatcher ked how to do it And he said people owed t'd be another to me away from him and give me to the widow for my guardian, and they guessed it would this time. This shook me up considerable, because I didn't want to go back to the widow's any more and be so cramped up and sivilized, as they ced it. Then the old man got to cussing, and cussed everything and everybody he could think of, and then cussed them over again to make sure he hadn't skipped any, and after that he polished with a kind of a general cuss round, including a considerable parcel of people which he didn't k the s of, and so ced them what's-his- when he got to them, and went right along with his cussing. |
Louis Navellier
Senior Quantitative Analyst, InvestorPlace
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she had got a start, and she went on and told me about the good place. She said a body would have to do t was to go around day long with a harp and sing, forever and ever. So I didn't think much of it. But I said so. I asked her if she reckoned Tom Sawyer would go t, and she said not by a considerable sight. I was glad about that, because I wanted him and me to be toher. Miss Watson she kept pecking at me, and it got tiresome and lonesome. By and by they fetched the niggers in and had prayers, and then everybody was to bed. I went up to my room with a piece of candle, and put it on the table. Then I set down in a chair by the dow and tried to think of something cheerful, but it warn't no use. I felt so lonesome I most wished I was dead. The stars were shining, and the s rustled in the woods ever so mournful; and I heard an owl, away , who-whooing about somebody that was dead, and a whippowill and a dog crying about somebody that was going to die; and the d was trying to whisper something to me, and I couldn't make out what it was, and so it made the cold shivers run over me. Then away out in the woods I heard that kind of a sound that a ghost makes when it wants to tell about something that's on its mind and can't make itself understood, and so can't rest easy in its grave, and has to go about that way every night grieving. I got so down-hearted and scared I did wish I had some company. Pretty a spider went crawling up my shoulder, and I flipped it and it lit in the candle; and before I could budge it was shriveled up. I didn't need anybody to tell me that that was an awful bad sign and would fetch me some bad luck, so I was scared and most shook the clothes of me. I got up and turned around in my tracks three times and crossed my breast every time; and then I tied up a little lock of my hair with a thread to keep witches away. But I hadn't no confidence. You do that when you've lost a horseshoe that you've found, instead of nailing it up over the door, but I hadn't ever heard anybody say it was any way to keep bad luck when you'd killed a spider. I set down again, a-shaking over, and got out my pipe for a smoke; for the house was as still as death , and so the widow wouldn't k. Well, after a long time I heard the clock away in the town go boom—boom—boom—twelve licks; and still again—stiller than ever. Pretty I heard a twig snap down in the dark amongst the trees—something was a stirring. I set still and listened. Directly I could just barely hear a me-yow! me-yow! down t. That was good! Says I, me-yow! me-yow! as soft as I could, and then I put out the light and scrambled out of the dow on to the shed. Then I slipped down to the ground and crawled in among the trees, and, sure enough, t was Tom Sawyer waiting for me. He listened some more; then he come tiptoeing down and stood right between us; we could a touched him, nearly. Well, likely it was minutes and minutes that t warn't a sound, and we t so close toher. T was a place on my ankle that got to itching, but I dasn't scratch it; and then my ear begun to itch; and next my back, right between my shoulders. Seemed like I'd die if I couldn't scratch. Well, I've noticed that thing plenty times since. If you are with the quality, or at a funeral, or trying to go to sleep when you ain't sleepy—if you are anyws w it 't do to scratch, why you will itch over in upwards of a thousand places. Pretty Jim says: Say, who is you? Whar is you? Dog my cats ef I didn' hear sumf'n. Well, I k what I's gwyne to do: I's gwyne to set down and listen tell I hears it agin. So he set down on the ground betwixt me and Tom. He leaned his back up against a tree, and stretched his legs out till one of them As as Tom was back we cut along the path, around the garden fence, and by and by fetched up on the steep top of the hill the other side of the house. Tom said he slipped Jim's hat of his head and hung it on a limb right over him, and Jim stirred a little, but he didn't wake. Afterwards Jim said the witches bewitched him and put him in a trance, and rode him over the State, and then set him under the trees again, and hung his hat on a limb to show who done it. And next time Jim told it he said they rode him down to Orleans; and, after that, every time he told it he spread it more and more, till by and by he said they rode him over the world, and tired him most to death, and his back was over saddle-boils. Jim was monstrous proud about it, and he got so he wouldn't hardly notice the other niggers. Niggers would come miles to hear Jim tell about it, and he was more looked up to than any nigger in that country. Strange niggers would stand with their mouths and look him over, same as if he was a der. Niggers is always talking about witches in the dark by the kitchen fire; but whe one was talking and letting on to k about such things, Jim would happen in and say, Hm! What you k 'bout witches? and that nigger was corked up and had to take a back seat. Jim always kept that five-center piece round his neck with a string, and said it was a charm the devil give to him with his own hands, and told him he could cure anybody with it and fetch witches whe he wanted to just by saying something to it; but he told what it was he said to it. Niggers would come from around t and give Jim anything they had, just for a sight of that five-center piece; but they wouldn't touch it, because the devil had had his hands on it. Jim was most ruined for a servant, because he got stuck up on account of having seen the devil and been rode by witches. Well, when Tom and me got to the edge of the hill-top we looked away down into the village and could see three or four lights tkling, w t was sick folks, maybe; and the stars over us was sparkling ever so fine; and down by the village was the river, a whole mile broad, and awful still and grand. We went down the hill and found Jo Harper and Ben Rogers, and two or three more of the boys, hid in the old tanyard. So we unhitched a skiff and pulled down the river two mile and a half, to the big scar on the hillside, and went ashore. We went to a clump of bushes, and Tom made everybody swear to keep the secret, and then showed them a hole in the hill, right in the thickest part of the bushes. Then we lit the candles, and crawled in on our hands and knees. We went about two hundred yards, and then the cave ed up. Tom poked about amongst the passages, and pretty ducked under a w w you wouldn't a noticed that t was a hole. We went along a narrow place and got into a kind of room, damp and sweaty and cold, and t we ped. Tom says: , we'll start this band of robbers and c it Tom Sawyer's Gang. Everybody that wants to join has got to take an oath, and write his in blood. HUCKLEBERRY FINN 7 Everybody was willing. So Tom got out a sheet of paper that he had wrote the oath on, and read it. It swore every boy to stick to the band, and tell any of the secrets; and if anybody done anything to any boy in the band, whichever boy was ordered to kill that person and his family must do it, and he mustn't eat and he mustn't sleep till he had killed them and hacked a cross in their breasts, which was the sign of the band. And nobody that didn't belong to the band could use that mark, and if he did he must be sued; and if he done it again he must be killed. And if anybody that belonged to the band told the secrets, he must have his throat cut, and then have his carcass burnt up and the ashes scattered around, and his blotted of the list with blood and mentioned again by the gang, but have a curse put on it and be forgot forever. Everybody said it was a real beautiful oath, and asked Tom if he got it out of his own head. He said, some of it, but the rest was out of piratebooks and robber-books, and every gang that was high-toned had it. Some thought it would be good to kill the families of boys that told the secrets. Tom said it was a good idea, so he took a pencil and wrote it in. Then Ben Rogers says: 's Huck Finn, he hain't got no family; what you going to do 'bout him? Well, hain't he got a father? says Tom Sawyer. Yes, he's got a father, but you can't find him these days. He used to lay drunk with the hogs in the tanyard, but he hain't been seen in these parts for a year or more. They talked it over, and they was going to rule me out, because they said every boy must have a family or somebody to kill, or else it wouldn't be fair and square for the others. Well, nobody could think of anything to do—everybody was stumped, and set still. I was most ready to cry; but at once I thought of a way, and so I ered them Miss Watson—they could kill her. Everybody said: Oh, she'll do. That's right. Huck can come in. Then they stuck a pin in their fingers to blood to sign with, and I made my mark on the paper. , says Ben Rogers, what's the line of business of this Gang? Nothing robbery and murder, Tom said. But who are we going to rob?—houses, or cattle, or— Stuff! stealing cattle and such things ain't robbery; it's burglary, says Tom Sawyer. We ain't burglars. That ain't no sort of style. We are highwaymen. We stages and carriages on the road, with masks on, and kill the people and take their watches and . Must we always kill the people? Oh, certainly. It's best. Some authorities think different, but mostly it's considered best to kill them—except some that you bring to the cave , and keep them till they're ransomed. Ransomed? What's that? I don't k. But that's what they do. I've seen it in books; and so of course that's what we've got to do. But how can we do it if we don't k what it is? Why, blame it , we've got to do it. Don't I tell you it's in the books? Do you want to go to doing different from what's in the books, and things muddled up? Oh, that's very fine to say, Tom Sawyer, but how in the nation are these fellows going to be ransomed if we don't k how to do it to them?—that's the thing I want to at. , what do you reckon it is? Well, I don't k. But per'aps if we keep them till they're ransomed, it means that we keep them till they're dead. , that's something like. That'll answer. Why couldn't you said that before? We'll keep them till they're ransomed to death; and a bothersome lot they'll be, too—eating up everything, and always trying to loose. How you talk, Ben Rogers. How can they loose when t's a guard over them, ready to shoot them down if they move a peg? A guard! Well, that IS good. So somebody's got to set up night and any sleep, just so as to watch them. I think that's foolishness. Why can't a body take a club and ransom them as as they ? Because it ain't in the books so—that's why. , Ben Rogers, do you want to do things regular, or don't you?—that's the idea. Don't you reckon that the people that made the books ks what's the correct thing to do? Do you reckon you can learn 'em anything? Not by a good . No, sir, we'll just go on and ransom them in the regular way. right. I don't mind; but I say it's a fool way, anyhow. Say, do we kill the women, too? Well, Ben Rogers, if I was as ignorant as you I wouldn't let on. Kill the women? No; nobody ever saw anything in the books like that. You fetch them to the cave, and you're always as polite as pie to them; and by and by they f in love with you, and want to go any more. Well, if that's the way I'm agreed, but I don't take no stock in it. Mighty we'll have the cave so cluttered up with women, and fellows waiting to be ransomed, that t 't be no place for the robbers. But go ahead, I ain't got nothing to say. Little Tommy Barnes was asleep , and when they waked him up he was scared, and cried, and said he wanted to go to his ma, and didn't want to be a robber any more. So they made fun of him, and ced him cry-baby, and that made him mad, and he said he would go straight and tell the secrets. But Tom give him five cents to keep quiet, and said we would go and meet next week, and rob somebody and kill some people. Ben Rogers said he couldn't out much, Sundays, and so he wanted to begin next Sunday; but the boys said it would be wicked to do it on Sunday, and that settled the thing. They agreed to toher and fix a day as as they could, and then we elected Tom Sawyer first captain and Jo Harper second captain of the Gang, and so started . I clumb up the shed and crept into my dow just before day was breaking. My clothes was greased up and clayey, and I was dog-tired. Well I got a good going-over in the morning from old Miss Watson on account of my clothes; but the widow she didn't scold, but cleaned the grease and clay, and looked so sorry that I thought I would behave awhile if I could. Then Miss Watson she took me in the closet and prayed, but nothing come of it. She told me to pray every day, and whatever I asked for I would it. But it warn't so. I tried it. Once I got a fish-line, but no hooks. It warn't any good to me without hooks. I tried for the hooks three or four times, but somehow I couldn't make it work. By and by, one day, I asked Miss Watson to try for me, but she said I was a fool. She told me why, and I couldn't make it out no way. I set down back in the woods, and had a long think about it. I says to myself, if a body can anything they pray for, why don't Deacon n back the he lost on pork? Why can't the widow back her silver snuffbox that was stole? Why can't Miss Watson fat up? No, says I to my self, t ain't nothing in it. I went and told the widow about it, and she said the thing a body could by praying for it was spiritual gifts. This was too many for me, but she told me what she meant—I must help other people, and do everything I could for other people, and look out for them the time, and think about myself. This was including Miss Watson, as I took it. I went out in the woods and turned it over in my mind a long time, but I couldn't see no advantage about it—except for the other people; so at last I reckoned I wouldn't worry about it any more, but just let it go. Sometimes the widow would take me one side and talk about Providence in a way to make a body's mouth water; but maybe next day Miss Watson would take hold and knock it down again. I judged I could see that t was two Providences, and a poor chap would stand considerable show with the widow's Providence, but if Miss Watson's got him t warn't no help for him any more. I thought it out, and reckoned I would belong to the widow's if he wanted me, though I couldn't make out how he was agoing to be any better then than what he was before, seeing I was so ignorant, and so kind of low-down and ornery. Pap he hadn't been seen for more than a year, and that was comfortable for me; I didn't want to see him no more. He used to always whale me when he was sober and could his hands on me; though I used to take to the woods most of the time when he was around. Well, about this time he was found in the river drownded, about twelve mile above town, so people said. They judged it was him, anyway; said this drownded man was just his size, and was ragged, and had uncommon long hair, which was like pap; but they couldn't make nothing out of the face, because it had been in the water so long it warn't much like a face at . They said he was floating on his back in the water. They took him and buried him on the . But I warn't comfortable long, because I happened to think of something. I ked mighty well that a drownded man don't float on his back, but on his face. So I ked, then, that this warn't pap, but a woman dressed up in a man's clothes. So I was uncomfortable again. I judged the old man would turn up again by and by, though I wished he wouldn't. We played robber and then about a month, and then I resigned. the boys did. We hadn't robbed nobody, hadn't killed any people, but just pretended. We used to hop out of the woods and go charging down on hog-drivers and women in carts taking garden stuff to market, but we hived any of them. Tom Sawyer ced the hogs ingots, and he ced the turnips and stuff julery, and we would go to the cave and powwow over what we had done, and how many people we had killed and marked. But I couldn't see no in it. Tom sent a boy to run about town with a blazing stick, which he ced a slogan (which was the sign for the Gang to toher), and then he said he had got secret s by his spies that next day a whole parcel of Spanish merchants and rich A-rabs was going to camp in Cave Hollow with two hundred elephants, and six hundred camels, and over a thousand sumter mules, loaded down with di'monds, and they didn't have a guard of four hundred soldiers, and so we would lay in ambuscade, as he ced it, and kill the lot and scoop the things. He said we must slick up our swords and guns, and ready. He could go after even a turnip-cart but he must have the swords and guns scoured up for it, though they was lath and broomsticks, and you might scour at them till you rotted, and then they warn't worth a mouthful of ashes more than what they was before. I didn't believe we could lick such a crowd of Spaniards and A-rabs, but I wanted to see the camels and elephants, so I was on hand next day, Saturday, in the ambuscade; and when we got the word we rushed out of the woods and down the hill. But t warn't no Spaniards and A-rabs, and t warn't no camels nor no elephants. It warn't anything but a Sunday-school picnic, and a primerclass at that. We busted it up, and chased the children up the hollow; but we got anything but some doughnuts and jam, though Ben Rogers got a rag doll, and Jo Harper got a hymn-book and a tract; and then the teacher charged in, and made us drop everything and cut. I didn't see no di'monds, and I told Tom Sawyer so. He said t was loads of them t, anyway; and he said t was A-rabs t, too, and elephants and things. I said, why couldn't we see them, then? He said if I warn't so ignorant, but had read a book ced Don Quixote, I would k without asking. He said it was done by enchantment. He said t was hundreds of soldiers t, and elephants and treasure, and so on, but we had enemies which he ced magicians; and they had turned the whole thing into an infant Sunday-school, just out of spite. I said, right; then the thing for us to do was to go for the magicians. Tom Sawyer said I was a numskull. Why, said he, a magician could c up a lot of genies, and they would hash you up like nothing before you could say Jack Robinson. They are as t as a tree and as big around as a church. |
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