Chapter II
 
 SATURDAY  morning  was  come,  and  all the summer world was bright and
fresh, and brimming with life. There was a song in every heart; and if the
heart was young the music issued at the lips. There was cheer in every
face and a spring in every step. The locust-trees were in bloom and the
fragrance of the blossoms filled the air. Cardiff Hill, beyond the village
and above it, was green with vegetation and it lay just far enough away to
seem a Delectable Land, dreamy, reposeful, and inviting.
Tom appeared on the sidewalk with a bucket of whitewash and a
long-handled brush. He surveyed the fence, and all gladness left him and a
deep melancholy settled down upon his spirit. Thirty yards of board fence
nine feet high. Life to him seemed hollow, and existence but a burden.
Sighing, he dipped his brush and passed it along the topmost plank;
repeated the operation; did it again; compared the insignificant
whitewashed streak with the far-reaching continent of unwhitewashed fence,
and sat down on a tree-box discouraged. Jim came skipping out at the gate
with a tin pail, and singing Buffalo Gals. Bringing water from the town
pump had always been hateful work in Tom's eyes, before, but now it did
not strike him so. He remembered that there was company at the pump.
White, mulatto, and negro boys and girls were always there waiting their
turns, resting, trading playthings, quarrelling, fighting, skylarking. And
he remembered that although the pump was only a hundred and fifty yards
off, Jim never got back with a bucket of water under an hour-and even then
somebody generally had to go after him. Tom said:
"Say, Jim, I'll fetch the water if you'll whitewash some."
Jim shook his head and said:
"Can't, Mars Tom. Ole missis, she tole me I got to go an' git dis water
an' not stop foolin' roun' wid anybody. She say she spec' Mars Tom gwine
to ax me to whitewash, an' so she tole me go 'long an' 'tend to my own
business-she 'lowed SHE'D 'tend to de whitewashin'."
"Oh, never you mind what she said, Jim. That's the way she always
talks. Gimme the bucket-I won't be gone only a a minute. SHE won't ever
know."
"Oh, I dasn't, Mars Tom. Ole missis she'd take an' tar de head off'n
me. 'Deed she would."
"SHE! She never licks anybody-whacks 'em over the head with her
thimble-and who cares for that, I'd like to know. She talks awful, but
talk don't hurt-anyways it don't if she don't cry. Jim, I'll give you a
marvel. I'll give you a white alley!"
Jim began to waver.
"White alley, Jim! And it's a bully taw."
"My! Dat's a mighty gay marvel, I tell you! But Mars Tom I's powerful
'fraid ole missis-"
"And besides, if you will I'll show you my sore toe."
Jim was only human-this attraction was too much for him. He put down
his pail, took the white alley, and bent over the toe with absorbing
interest while the bandage was being unwound. In another moment he was
flying down the street with his pail and a tingling rear, Tom was
whitewashing with vigor, and Aunt Polly was retiring from the field with a
slipper in her hand and triumph in her eye. But Tom's energy did not last.
He began to think of the fun he had planned for this day, and his sorrows
multiplied. Soon the free boys would come tripping along on all sorts of
delicious expeditions, and they would make a world of fun of him for
having to work-the very thought of it burnt him like fire. He got out his
worldly wealth and examined it-bits of toys, marbles, and trash; enough to
buy an exchange of WORK, maybe, but not half enough to buy so much as half
an hour of pure freedom. So he returned his straitened means to his
pocket, and gave up the idea of trying to buy the boys. At this dark and
hopeless moment an inspiration burst upon him! Nothing less than a great,
magnificent inspiration.
He took up his brush and went tranquilly to work. Ben Rogers hove in
sight presently-the very boy, of all boys, whose ridicule he had been
dreading. Ben's gait was the hop-skip-and-jump-proof enough that his heart
was light and his anticipations high. He was eating an apple, and giving a
long, melodious whoop, at intervals, followed by a deep-toned
dingdong-dong, ding-dong-dong, for he was personating a steamboat. As he
drew near, he slackened speed, took the middle of the street, leaned far
over to starboard and rounded to ponderously and with laborious pomp and
circumstance-for he was personating the Big Missouri, and considered
himself to be drawing nine feet of water. He was boat and captain and
engine-bells combined, so he had to imagine himself standing on his own
hurricane-deck giving the orders and executing them:
"Stop her, sir! Ting-a-ling-ling!" The headway ran almost out, and he
drew up slowly toward the sidewalk.
"Ship up to back! Ting-a-ling-ling!" His arms straightened and
stiffened down his sides.
"Set her back on the stabboard! Ting-a-ling-ling! Chow! ch-chow-wow!
Chow!" His right hand, meantime, describing stately circles-for it was
representing a forty-foot wheel.
"Let her go back on the labboard! Ting-a-lingling! Chow-ch-chow-chow!"
The left hand began to describe circles.
"Stop the stabboard! Ting-a-ling-ling! Stop the labboard! Come ahead on
the stabboard! Stop her! Let your outside turn over slow!
Ting-a-ling-ling! Chow-ow-ow! Get out that head-line! LIVELY now! Come-out
with your spring-line-what're you about there! Take a turn round that
stump with the bight of it! Stand by that stage, now-let her go! Done with
the engines, sir! Ting-a-ling-ling! SH'T! S'H'T! SH'T!" (trying the
gauge-cocks).
Tom went on whitewashing-paid no attention to the steamboat. Ben stared
a moment and then said: "Hi-YI! YOU'RE up a stump, ain't you!"
No answer. Tom surveyed his last touch with the eye of an artist, then
he gave his brush another gentle sweep and surveyed the result, as before.
Ben ranged up alongside of him. Tom's mouth watered for the apple, but he
stuck to his work. Ben said:
"Hello, old chap, you got to work, hey?"
Tom wheeled suddenly and said:
"Why, it's you, Ben! I warn't noticing."
"Say-I'm going in a-swimming, I am. Don't you wish you could? But of
course you'd druther WORK-wouldn't you? Course you would!"
Tom contemplated the boy a bit, and said:
"What do you call work?"
"Why, ain't THAT work?"
Tom resumed his whitewashing, and answered carelessly:
"Well, maybe it is, and maybe it ain't. All I know, is, it suits Tom
Sawyer."
"Oh come, now, you don't mean to let on that you LIKE it?"
The brush continued to move.
"Like it? Well, I don't see why I oughtn't to like it. Does a boy get a
chance to whitewash a fence every day?"
That put the thing in a new light. Ben stopped nibbling his apple. Tom
swept his brush daintily back and forth-stepped back to note the
effect-added a touch here and there-criticised the effect again-Ben
watching every move and getting more and more interested, more and more
absorbed. Presently he said:
"Say, Tom, let ME whitewash a little."
Tom considered, was about to consent; but he altered his mind:
"No-no-I reckon it wouldn't hardly do, Ben. You see, Aunt Polly's awful
particular about this fence-right here on the street, you know-but if it
was the back fence I wouldn't mind and SHE wouldn't. Yes, she's awful
particular about this fence; it's got to be done very careful; I reckon
there ain't one boy in a thousand, maybe two thousand, that can do it the
way it's got to be done."
"No-is that so? Oh come, now-lemme just try. Only just a little-I'd let
YOU, if you was me, Tom."
"Ben, I'd like to, honest injun; but Aunt Polly-well, Jim wanted to do
it, but she wouldn't let him; Sid wanted to do it, and she wouldn't let
Sid. Now don't you see how I'm fixed? If you was to tackle this fence and
anything was to happen to it-"
"Oh, shucks, I'll be just as careful. Now lemme try. Say-I'll give you
the core of my apple."
"Well, here-No, Ben, now don't. I'm afeard-"
"I'll give you ALL of it!"
Tom gave up the brush with reluctance in his face, but alacrity in his
heart. And while the late steamer Big Missouri worked and sweated in the
sun, the retired artist sat on a barrel in the shade close by, dangled his
legs, munched his apple, and planned the slaughter of more innocents.
There was no lack of material; boys happened along every little while;
they came to jeer, but remained to whitewash. By the time Ben was fagged
out, Tom had traded the next chance to Billy Fisher for a kite, in good
repair; and when he played out, Johnny Miller bought in for a dead rat and
a string to swing it with-and so on, and so on, hour after hour. And when
the middle of the afternoon came, from being a poor poverty-stricken boy
in the morning, Tom was literally rolling in wealth. He had besides the
things before mentioned, twelve marbles, part of a jews-harp, a piece of
blue bottle-glass to look through, a spool cannon, a key that wouldn't
unlock anything, a fragment of chalk, a glass stopper of a decanter, a tin
soldier, a couple of tadpoles, six fire-crackers, a kitten with only one
eye, a brass doorknob, a dog-collar-but no dog-the handle of a knife, four
pieces of orange-peel, and a dilapidated old window sash.
He had had a nice, good, idle time all the while-plenty of company-and
the fence had three coats of whitewash on it! If he hadn't run out of
whitewash he would have bankrupted every boy in the village.
Tom said to himself that it was not such a hollow world, after all. He
had discovered a great law of human action, without knowing it-namely,
that in order to make a man or a boy covet a thing, it is only necessary
to make the thing difficult to attain. If he had been a great and wise
philosopher, like the writer of this book, he would now have comprehended
that Work consists of whatever a body is OBLIGED to do, and that Play
consists of whatever a body is not obliged to do. And this would help him
to understand why constructing artificial flowers or performing on a
tread-mill is work, while rolling ten-pins or climbing Mont Blanc is only
amusement. There are wealthy gentlemen in England who drive four-horse
passengercoaches twenty or thirty miles on a daily line, in the summer,
because the privilege costs them considerable money; but if they were
offered wages for the service, that would turn it into work and then they
would resign.
The boy mused awhile over the substantial change which had taken place
in his worldly circumstances, and then wended toward headquarters to
report.