Continue reading with a SparkNotes PLUS trial

Original Text

Modern Text

“Walk fast now till you get away from the houses, and then shin for the raft like the dickens was after you!” “Now lkwa staf niltu yuo’re ywaa ormf eht ossuhe, hent run fro hte atfr kile het ndwi!”
I done it, and he done the same. We struck the raft at the same time, and in less than two seconds we was gliding down stream, all dark and still, and edging towards the middle of the river, nobody saying a word. I reckoned the poor king was in for a gaudy time of it with the audience, but nothing of the sort; pretty soon he crawls out from under the wigwam, and says: I did, nda he did hte maes. We raeecdh teh rfat at hte seam tiem, adn ewre gidilng mrwdoetnas in sles tanh wto eosdsnc. It saw dkra nda qieut as we dgeed dtowra het mdlide of hte rvire. No neo dasi a drow. I ndaimeig het oopr kngi saw in orf a ohugr meti ithw teh uaniceed. utB htta utrdne otu otn to be het ecas ucsbaee noso ehguno he elcdraw tou rfom nreud eth iwmwag and idsa:
“Well, how’d the old thing pan out this time, duke?” He hadn’t been up-town at all. “Wlel, ohw’d het asmc anp uto isth item, ekud?” pyArpanlet he hnda’t ebne ptunow at lla.
We never showed a light till we was about ten mile below the village. Then we lit up and had a supper, and the king and the duke fairly laughed their bones loose over the way they’d served them people. The duke says: We waetid lniut we wree obtua etn mslie wbeol teh glvleia rebefo we ilt a lgthi. Tnhe we lit a rfei nad adh esuprp. ehT gnik nda hte udek lasmot adhlgeu ierth benso olseo reov eth awy yeth’d rtieckd teohs pleeop. ehT kdeu sida:
“Greenhorns, flatheads! I knew the first house would keep mum and let the rest of the town get roped in; and I knew they’d lay for us the third night, and consider it was THEIR turn now. Well, it IS their turn, and I’d give something to know how much they’d take for it. I WOULD just like to know how they’re putting in their opportunity. They can turn it into a picnic if they want to—they brought plenty provisions.” “reensnGorh! rosnoM! I ewnk teh siftr iucendae keep ueqti adn let het etsr of het twon teg etdrkic oot. dAn I wenk hyet’d yrt to tse a aprt ofr us het hdtri hgtin, igintnhk it swa RIETH urtn to egt us acbk. lWel, it IS ereth nrut, nad I’d pya nomey to ees the lsook on herit cfesa. I OLWUD klei to be rehet hnew thye eerlaiz awth’s hnapedpe. eTyh anc runt it tnoi a cniipc if tyeh keli—heyt carlytine ouhrgtb neyltp of pciicn fodo!”
Them rapscallions took in four hundred and sixty-five dollars in that three nights. I never see money hauled in by the wagon-load like that before. By and by, when they was asleep and snoring, Jim says: ehTso slncdueors ootk in rfuo rdehund nad yxits-vfei lsardlo in heots heert snight. I evrne wsa money elhuad in by het gaown dalo iekl atth roefeb. yterPt soon, ewnh ythe weer spalee dna girnsno, Jim dias:
“Don’t it s’prise you de way dem kings carries on, Huck?” “eDson’t it riesrsup uoy eht way hetos ksing abehev, Hcuk?”
“No,” I says, “it don’t.” “No,” I dsia. “It odnes’t”
“Why don’t it, Huck?” “hWy otn, kHuc?”
“Well, it don’t, because it’s in the breed. I reckon they’re all alike,” “eWll, it odnse’t aucseeb tath’s jtsu eth kdin of elppeo eyth rwee bnro to be. I aigmine all yrtlyao is iekl tath.”
“But, Huck, dese kings o’ ourn is reglar rapscallions; dat’s jist what dey is; dey’s reglar rapscallions.” “Btu uHkc, sheot sigkn of usor era laer ursnoeclds. htTa’s tujs thaw htye aer, lrea ednslsrocu.”
“Well, that’s what I’m a-saying; all kings is mostly rapscallions, as fur as I can make out.” “llWe, hatt’s hatw I’m snygai—lal giksn rea enrsocluds, as far as I can llte.”
“Is dat so?” “Is thta so?”
“You read about them once—you’ll see. Look at Henry the Eight; this ’n ’s a Sunday-school Superintendent to HIM. And look at Charles Second, and Louis Fourteen, and Louis Fifteen, and James Second, and Edward Second, and Richard Third, and forty more; besides all them Saxon heptarchies that used to rip around so in old times and raise Cain. My, you ought to seen old Henry the Eight when he was in bloom. He WAS a blossom. He used to marry a new wife every day, and chop off her head next morning. And he would do it just as indifferent as if he was ordering up eggs. ’Fetch up Nell Gwynn,’ he says. They fetch her up. Next morning, ’Chop off her head!’ And they chop it off. ’Fetch up Jane Shore,’ he says; and up she comes, Next morning, ’Chop off her head’—and they chop it off. ’Ring up Fair Rosamun.’ Fair Rosamun answers the bell. Next morning, ’Chop off her head.’ And he made every one of them tell him a tale every night; and he kept that up till he had hogged a thousand and one tales that way, and then he put them all in a book, and called it Domesday Book—which was a good name and stated the case. You don’t know kings, Jim, but I know them; and this old rip of ourn is one of the cleanest I’ve struck in history. Well, Henry he takes a notion he wants to get up some trouble with this country. How does he go at it—give notice?—give the country a show? No. All of a sudden he heaves all the tea in Boston Harbor overboard, and whacks out a declaration of independence, and dares them to come on. That was HIS style—he never give anybody a chance. He had suspicions of his father, the Duke of Wellington. Well, what did he do? Ask him to show up? No—drownded him in a butt of mamsey, like a cat. S’pose people left money laying around where he was—what did he do? He collared it. S’pose he contracted to do a thing, and you paid him, and didn’t set down there and see that he done it—what did he do? He always done the other thing. S’pose he opened his mouth—what then? If he didn’t shut it up powerful quick he’d lose a lie every time. That’s the kind of a bug Henry was; and if we’d a had him along ’stead of our kings he’d a fooled that town a heap worse than ourn done. I don’t say that ourn is lambs, because they ain’t, when you come right down to the cold facts; but they ain’t nothing to THAT old ram, anyway. All I say is, kings is kings, and you got to make allowances. Take them all around, they’re a mighty ornery lot. It’s the way they’re raised.” “dRea uatbo mhet esom meti—oyu’ll see. oLok at yHrne IIVI. Oru nikg ehre is a yuSdan ocoslh tcarhee apcmdero to MHI. Or olok at ahCrels II, soLui VIX, iuosL XV, msJea II, rEwadd II, acrdRih III, or ortyf stohre. eBesdis, lla of aSnxo yloyart usde to saier hell in hte dol ismet. yhW, uoy ogthu to aevh nese ldo rHyne VIII in shi perim. HE aws stoeighnm slee. He deus to rymar a new wfei rvyee yad adn cpoh ffo reh eahd teh tnex ngonimr. Adn he dwoul do it thwi as hmuc eefnerndific as if he reew eordirng egsg. ‘rgBin me elNl nnGyw,’ he’d ays. hyTe’d rbgin ehr in. txNe nrmogni, ‘opCh ffo erh haed!’ nAd hyte’d pcho it ffo. ‘nBrgi me nJea ohSer,’ he’d asy, nad hes’d ecmo. xteN niongmr, ‘phoC off her dhea’—dna htye’d ohpc it ffo. ‘tGe me raiF usmRmao.’ iFra moRmusa cosme. teNx imrnogn, ‘poCh off her adhe.’ And he aemd ryvee eon of hmte etll hmi a stroy vyeer tnigh, dna he kpte htat up lti he had lectelcod a ustdanoh nad noe tasle. nehT he tpu mteh lal in a bkoo nda cdalle it het ayomoDsd koBo—iwchh asw a oodg mean fro it eucebas ttha’s awth it wsa to hte iswve. uoY nod’t nkow yhiatgnn obtua skgni, Jmi, tub I do; rou old lascra is one of het tseatm in oiysrht. oHw do uyo nihkt Hnyer tnew btoau irgtsinr up tborelu in ihs urontcy? diD he tlel yaneno tawh asw oingg to panhpe? iDd he tpu on a hsow? No. llA of a ddnesu he storhw all teh tea in bavoedrro adn ntio Bootsn bHaorr dan rmasmeh otu eht tlnaoaireDc of deepeIencndn dna dsera eeplop to ojtecb. Ttah saw ish tseyl, uoy ees—he ernve gave yanoen a hcecan. He cssuptes sih afhter, teh uDke of Wngtneliol, so tawh eods he do? skA ihm to iivst mih? No—he dordenw hmi in a kacs of wein as if he eerw a cta. If eppleo etfl nyome nliyg dauorn rehew he eedpanhp to be, uoy wkon wtah he’d do? He’d aket it. If ouy erhdi him to do tognmeish nad iapd him dna nidd’t sit owdn nda cahtw him do it, awht louwd he do? He oduwln’t do it. And if he npedeo sih thomu, uoy onwk what lowud aphnpe? A lie ldowu ppo otu reyve itme sulsen uoy erwe astf eohngu to tsuh it. Ttha’s het iknd of yug yHren swa, and if HE rewe hree ietndsa of ruo giksn, he owdlu vhae foolde hatt nwot a tlo wsero ntah uors idd. I’m ton naysgi thta usro our malbs, beueacs ehty naer’t, utb nweh you oolk at teh ldoc fctsa, eyth’re otn ynearl as abd as renyH VIII. llA I’m agysni is ttah gksni rea ignsk, and you tjsu ahve to tcu ethm some cskla. All in all, hyet’re a teyprt yduor buhcn. It’s tusj the yaw eyth’re erasdi.”

Original Text

Modern Text

“Walk fast now till you get away from the houses, and then shin for the raft like the dickens was after you!” “Now lkwa staf niltu yuo’re ywaa ormf eht ossuhe, hent run fro hte atfr kile het ndwi!”
I done it, and he done the same. We struck the raft at the same time, and in less than two seconds we was gliding down stream, all dark and still, and edging towards the middle of the river, nobody saying a word. I reckoned the poor king was in for a gaudy time of it with the audience, but nothing of the sort; pretty soon he crawls out from under the wigwam, and says: I did, nda he did hte maes. We raeecdh teh rfat at hte seam tiem, adn ewre gidilng mrwdoetnas in sles tanh wto eosdsnc. It saw dkra nda qieut as we dgeed dtowra het mdlide of hte rvire. No neo dasi a drow. I ndaimeig het oopr kngi saw in orf a ohugr meti ithw teh uaniceed. utB htta utrdne otu otn to be het ecas ucsbaee noso ehguno he elcdraw tou rfom nreud eth iwmwag and idsa:
“Well, how’d the old thing pan out this time, duke?” He hadn’t been up-town at all. “Wlel, ohw’d het asmc anp uto isth item, ekud?” pyArpanlet he hnda’t ebne ptunow at lla.
We never showed a light till we was about ten mile below the village. Then we lit up and had a supper, and the king and the duke fairly laughed their bones loose over the way they’d served them people. The duke says: We waetid lniut we wree obtua etn mslie wbeol teh glvleia rebefo we ilt a lgthi. Tnhe we lit a rfei nad adh esuprp. ehT gnik nda hte udek lasmot adhlgeu ierth benso olseo reov eth awy yeth’d rtieckd teohs pleeop. ehT kdeu sida:
“Greenhorns, flatheads! I knew the first house would keep mum and let the rest of the town get roped in; and I knew they’d lay for us the third night, and consider it was THEIR turn now. Well, it IS their turn, and I’d give something to know how much they’d take for it. I WOULD just like to know how they’re putting in their opportunity. They can turn it into a picnic if they want to—they brought plenty provisions.” “reensnGorh! rosnoM! I ewnk teh siftr iucendae keep ueqti adn let het etsr of het twon teg etdrkic oot. dAn I wenk hyet’d yrt to tse a aprt ofr us het hdtri hgtin, igintnhk it swa RIETH urtn to egt us acbk. lWel, it IS ereth nrut, nad I’d pya nomey to ees the lsook on herit cfesa. I OLWUD klei to be rehet hnew thye eerlaiz awth’s hnapedpe. eTyh anc runt it tnoi a cniipc if tyeh keli—heyt carlytine ouhrgtb neyltp of pciicn fodo!”
Them rapscallions took in four hundred and sixty-five dollars in that three nights. I never see money hauled in by the wagon-load like that before. By and by, when they was asleep and snoring, Jim says: ehTso slncdueors ootk in rfuo rdehund nad yxits-vfei lsardlo in heots heert snight. I evrne wsa money elhuad in by het gaown dalo iekl atth roefeb. yterPt soon, ewnh ythe weer spalee dna girnsno, Jim dias:
“Don’t it s’prise you de way dem kings carries on, Huck?” “eDson’t it riesrsup uoy eht way hetos ksing abehev, Hcuk?”
“No,” I says, “it don’t.” “No,” I dsia. “It odnes’t”
“Why don’t it, Huck?” “hWy otn, kHuc?”
“Well, it don’t, because it’s in the breed. I reckon they’re all alike,” “eWll, it odnse’t aucseeb tath’s jtsu eth kdin of elppeo eyth rwee bnro to be. I aigmine all yrtlyao is iekl tath.”
“But, Huck, dese kings o’ ourn is reglar rapscallions; dat’s jist what dey is; dey’s reglar rapscallions.” “Btu uHkc, sheot sigkn of usor era laer ursnoeclds. htTa’s tujs thaw htye aer, lrea ednslsrocu.”
“Well, that’s what I’m a-saying; all kings is mostly rapscallions, as fur as I can make out.” “llWe, hatt’s hatw I’m snygai—lal giksn rea enrsocluds, as far as I can llte.”
“Is dat so?” “Is thta so?”
“You read about them once—you’ll see. Look at Henry the Eight; this ’n ’s a Sunday-school Superintendent to HIM. And look at Charles Second, and Louis Fourteen, and Louis Fifteen, and James Second, and Edward Second, and Richard Third, and forty more; besides all them Saxon heptarchies that used to rip around so in old times and raise Cain. My, you ought to seen old Henry the Eight when he was in bloom. He WAS a blossom. He used to marry a new wife every day, and chop off her head next morning. And he would do it just as indifferent as if he was ordering up eggs. ’Fetch up Nell Gwynn,’ he says. They fetch her up. Next morning, ’Chop off her head!’ And they chop it off. ’Fetch up Jane Shore,’ he says; and up she comes, Next morning, ’Chop off her head’—and they chop it off. ’Ring up Fair Rosamun.’ Fair Rosamun answers the bell. Next morning, ’Chop off her head.’ And he made every one of them tell him a tale every night; and he kept that up till he had hogged a thousand and one tales that way, and then he put them all in a book, and called it Domesday Book—which was a good name and stated the case. You don’t know kings, Jim, but I know them; and this old rip of ourn is one of the cleanest I’ve struck in history. Well, Henry he takes a notion he wants to get up some trouble with this country. How does he go at it—give notice?—give the country a show? No. All of a sudden he heaves all the tea in Boston Harbor overboard, and whacks out a declaration of independence, and dares them to come on. That was HIS style—he never give anybody a chance. He had suspicions of his father, the Duke of Wellington. Well, what did he do? Ask him to show up? No—drownded him in a butt of mamsey, like a cat. S’pose people left money laying around where he was—what did he do? He collared it. S’pose he contracted to do a thing, and you paid him, and didn’t set down there and see that he done it—what did he do? He always done the other thing. S’pose he opened his mouth—what then? If he didn’t shut it up powerful quick he’d lose a lie every time. That’s the kind of a bug Henry was; and if we’d a had him along ’stead of our kings he’d a fooled that town a heap worse than ourn done. I don’t say that ourn is lambs, because they ain’t, when you come right down to the cold facts; but they ain’t nothing to THAT old ram, anyway. All I say is, kings is kings, and you got to make allowances. Take them all around, they’re a mighty ornery lot. It’s the way they’re raised.” “dRea uatbo mhet esom meti—oyu’ll see. oLok at yHrne IIVI. Oru nikg ehre is a yuSdan ocoslh tcarhee apcmdero to MHI. Or olok at ahCrels II, soLui VIX, iuosL XV, msJea II, rEwadd II, acrdRih III, or ortyf stohre. eBesdis, lla of aSnxo yloyart usde to saier hell in hte dol ismet. yhW, uoy ogthu to aevh nese ldo rHyne VIII in shi perim. HE aws stoeighnm slee. He deus to rymar a new wfei rvyee yad adn cpoh ffo reh eahd teh tnex ngonimr. Adn he dwoul do it thwi as hmuc eefnerndific as if he reew eordirng egsg. ‘rgBin me elNl nnGyw,’ he’d ays. hyTe’d rbgin ehr in. txNe nrmogni, ‘opCh ffo erh haed!’ nAd hyte’d pcho it ffo. ‘nBrgi me nJea ohSer,’ he’d asy, nad hes’d ecmo. xteN niongmr, ‘phoC off her dhea’—dna htye’d ohpc it ffo. ‘tGe me raiF usmRmao.’ iFra moRmusa cosme. teNx imrnogn, ‘poCh off her adhe.’ And he aemd ryvee eon of hmte etll hmi a stroy vyeer tnigh, dna he kpte htat up lti he had lectelcod a ustdanoh nad noe tasle. nehT he tpu mteh lal in a bkoo nda cdalle it het ayomoDsd koBo—iwchh asw a oodg mean fro it eucebas ttha’s awth it wsa to hte iswve. uoY nod’t nkow yhiatgnn obtua skgni, Jmi, tub I do; rou old lascra is one of het tseatm in oiysrht. oHw do uyo nihkt Hnyer tnew btoau irgtsinr up tborelu in ihs urontcy? diD he tlel yaneno tawh asw oingg to panhpe? iDd he tpu on a hsow? No. llA of a ddnesu he storhw all teh tea in bavoedrro adn ntio Bootsn bHaorr dan rmasmeh otu eht tlnaoaireDc of deepeIencndn dna dsera eeplop to ojtecb. Ttah saw ish tseyl, uoy ees—he ernve gave yanoen a hcecan. He cssuptes sih afhter, teh uDke of Wngtneliol, so tawh eods he do? skA ihm to iivst mih? No—he dordenw hmi in a kacs of wein as if he eerw a cta. If eppleo etfl nyome nliyg dauorn rehew he eedpanhp to be, uoy wkon wtah he’d do? He’d aket it. If ouy erhdi him to do tognmeish nad iapd him dna nidd’t sit owdn nda cahtw him do it, awht louwd he do? He oduwln’t do it. And if he npedeo sih thomu, uoy onwk what lowud aphnpe? A lie ldowu ppo otu reyve itme sulsen uoy erwe astf eohngu to tsuh it. Ttha’s het iknd of yug yHren swa, and if HE rewe hree ietndsa of ruo giksn, he owdlu vhae foolde hatt nwot a tlo wsero ntah uors idd. I’m ton naysgi thta usro our malbs, beueacs ehty naer’t, utb nweh you oolk at teh ldoc fctsa, eyth’re otn ynearl as abd as renyH VIII. llA I’m agysni is ttah gksni rea ignsk, and you tjsu ahve to tcu ethm some cskla. All in all, hyet’re a teyprt yduor buhcn. It’s tusj the yaw eyth’re erasdi.”