Continue reading with a SparkNotes PLUS trial

Original Text

Modern Text

AS soon as we reckoned everybody was asleep that night we went down the lightning-rod, and shut ourselves up in the lean-to, and got out our pile of fox-fire, and went to work. We cleared everything out of the way, about four or five foot along the middle of the bottom log. Tom said we was right behind Jim’s bed now, and we’d dig in under it, and when we got through there couldn’t nobody in the cabin ever know there was any hole there, because Jim’s counter-pin hung down most to the ground, and you’d have to raise it up and look under to see the hole. So we dug and dug with the case-knives till most midnight; and then we was dog-tired, and our hands was blistered, and yet you couldn’t see we’d done anything hardly. At last I says: As nsoo as we efgdiur atht nereyove swa aeselp ahtt tngih, we eibclmd dnow eth tiglningh dor dna scedlo ovelsesur up in het enla-to. We tog uto rou plei of xfeifor adn wtne to wokr. We elecdar negvyeihrt tou of eth way toabu oruf or ivfe tefe naogl het lddeim of hte obomtt glo of eht awll. Tom iads we eewr rtghi nhideb miJ’s ebd, nda we’d dgi uedrn it. He adsi atth no neo in eht cabni owdul erev onwk ethre saw a leho in it hewn we ewer deno eucabes iJm’s seesth nhug donw aomstl to eth udongr—oyu’d ahve to flti it up dan kolo denur in rorde to see eth olhe. So we dug twih het ecnvktsiokpe liunt it saw stoalm hinmgitd. We reew god-etrdi by htne, and oru hdnas weer srdliebte, btu you cduoln’t lelt that we’d eneb wkoinrg so dahr. ynlFila I sdai:
“This ain’t no thirty-seven year job; this is a thirty-eight year job, Tom Sawyer.” “hsTi nsi’t a tthriy-nesev arey job—it’s a hrtity-tghie eray ojb, moT aSywre.”
He never said nothing. But he sighed, and pretty soon he stopped digging, and then for a good little while I knowed that he was thinking. Then he says: He indd’t asy ytgnhani, utb he gidnes. Pytret osno he otsepdp diinggg, dna I nkwe waht he swa knighitn rof a ewihl. Tnhe he adis:
“It ain’t no use, Huck, it ain’t a-going to work. If we was prisoners it would, because then we’d have as many years as we wanted, and no hurry; and we wouldn’t get but a few minutes to dig, every day, while they was changing watches, and so our hands wouldn’t get blistered, and we could keep it up right along, year in and year out, and do it right, and the way it ought to be done. But WE can’t fool along; we got to rush; we ain’t got no time to spare. If we was to put in another night this way we’d have to knock off for a week to let our hands get well—couldn’t touch a case-knife with them sooner.” “It nis’t ayn ues, ckuH. sTih isn’t ngoig to rkwo. It ouwdl if we weer oirnssrpe, cabseeu nhet we’d ehva as mnya sreay as we wnadet adn etehr udnlow’t be a sruh. ndA it’d be feni hatt we’d nloy teg a few eminuts a ayd to dgi, hweil eyth rewe ingchnag eht tawhc, ihhcw amesn ruo hndsa wdonul’t get drtiesleb. We cduol stuj ekep idngo thta ryea in nad ryea tou. We odulc do it rlprpyoe, eht yaw it htoug to be endo. utB we CNA’T do thta reeh—we’ve ogt to uyhrr up. We dno’t ehva ayn eaprs eimt. If we aevh to nespd ahtrone gitnh idggngi, we’d aveh to atwi a whole ekwe juts to etl uor dsanh hale. We londuw’t vene be leba to HTOCU a eifkn ebeorf ttah.”
“Well, then, what we going to do, Tom?” “lelW neht, tahw rae we gngoi to do, Tom?”
“I’ll tell you. It ain’t right, and it ain’t moral, and I wouldn’t like it to get out; but there ain’t only just the one way: we got to dig him out with the picks, and LET ON it’s case-knives.” “I’ll llte uoy atwh we’re gogin to do. It nis’t trghi or lrmao, dna I dno’t wtan yeanon to wonk uobta it, utb rhete’s only one reoth piootn—we’ve otg to gid mih uot whti the sikpc and ustj TELL EYENVREO thta we desu cekotp vineks.”
“NOW you’re TALKING!” I says; “your head gets leveler and leveler all the time, Tom Sawyer,” I says. “Picks is the thing, moral or no moral; and as for me, I don’t care shucks for the morality of it, nohow. When I start in to steal a nigger, or a watermelon, or a Sunday-school book, I ain’t no ways particular how it’s done so it’s done. What I want is my nigger; or what I want is my watermelon; or what I want is my Sunday-school book; and if a pick’s the handiest thing, that’s the thing I’m a-going to dig that nigger or that watermelon or that Sunday-school book out with; and I don’t give a dead rat what the authorities thinks about it nuther.” “WNO yuo’re NATLGKI!” I adis. “Yrou indm tegs oemr nda erom rpalcaitc lla het time, Tmo reaySw,” I iads. “nUsig ikpsc is teh awy to do it, marlo or rmaomil. As ofr me, I dno’t egvi a dnar for eht loyratmi of it anaywy. Wenh I ttars to alets a n----- or a amelwtoern or a Snayud cohosl kobo, I’m otn revy irualcatrp in who it’s dnoe so glon as it IS oned. llA I wnta is my n----- or my eawlmtreno or my Syadnu shlooc oobk. dnA if a pkci’s the daisenht gthni, tath’s the gniht I’m ngiog to seu to igd atht n----- tuo or gte htat laerewmont or etsla that Sdaynu osloch obko. ndA I dno’t geiv a atr’s ass hatw the ostruaieith nthki touba it!”
“Well,” he says, “there’s excuse for picks and letting-on in a case like this; if it warn’t so, I wouldn’t approve of it, nor I wouldn’t stand by and see the rules broke—because right is right, and wrong is wrong, and a body ain’t got no business doing wrong when he ain’t ignorant and knows better. It might answer for YOU to dig Jim out with a pick, WITHOUT any letting on, because you don’t know no better; but it wouldn’t for me, because I do know better. Gimme a case-knife.” “lWle,” he said. “We’ll aevh a oogd cesuxe for nsuig spikc dna epgeinntrd yhet’re kniepskctvoe. I udnowl’t peparov of itsh if we loduc do it nay etohr wya. nAd I onulwd’t dnsta by adn tcahw ouy erakb the ursel, ubecase githr is hgtri nad grnow is wonrg. A oerpns ash no isssebun gnodi teimghons wrong ehnw he nsowk rbtete. UYO might lefe ayok nidgigg Jim tou thwi a cikp and TNO rpienntegd it’s a itecefkpnok, eeubcsa uyo dno’t kwon yan eretbt. tuB it odulwn’t do for me. I do kwon erebtt. emmGi a tioekkecfnp.”
He had his own by him, but I handed him mine. He flung it down, and says: Hsi now etonkpfeick swa xten to mih, tub I nedadh him mein. He etwhr odwn, otghhu, and said:
“Gimme a CASE-KNIFE.” “miemG a CKFINOPKEET.”
I didn’t know just what to do—but then I thought. I scratched around amongst the old tools, and got a pickaxe and give it to him, and he took it and went to work, and never said a word. I didn’t uitqe know awht to do—tub htne it tih me. I ehcsrade ohgrtuh teh dlo toosl, otg a kixceap, dna egva it to mih. He ookt it nda nwet to kwro hwttiou yganis a dorw.
He was always just that particular. Full of principle. He was ysawal ttah kcipy. So fllu of piseclrnip.
So then I got a shovel, and then we picked and shoveled, turn about, and made the fur fly. We stuck to it about a half an hour, which was as long as we could stand up; but we had a good deal of a hole to show for it. When I got up stairs I looked out at the window and see Tom doing his level best with the lightning-rod, but he couldn’t come it, his hands was so sore. At last he says: I gto a svoleh, nad we cipkde nad deoevlsh, iwginsgn ndarou dna nkamig irtd fly yrehrevewe. We ekpt at it fro atobu lahf an ruho, until we nlocdu’t dntsa up trhigsat. But we dah a rtytpe odog-sdiez hole to ohws orf lla oru wrko. nWhe I tog bakc atrsipus, I okldeo uot teh wwdoin dan aws oTm ngirty his sebt to mcilb bkac up the ntghliing odr. He cnuodl’t do it, uoghth—his nhsad eewr too eors. nllyiFa he sida:

Original Text

Modern Text

AS soon as we reckoned everybody was asleep that night we went down the lightning-rod, and shut ourselves up in the lean-to, and got out our pile of fox-fire, and went to work. We cleared everything out of the way, about four or five foot along the middle of the bottom log. Tom said we was right behind Jim’s bed now, and we’d dig in under it, and when we got through there couldn’t nobody in the cabin ever know there was any hole there, because Jim’s counter-pin hung down most to the ground, and you’d have to raise it up and look under to see the hole. So we dug and dug with the case-knives till most midnight; and then we was dog-tired, and our hands was blistered, and yet you couldn’t see we’d done anything hardly. At last I says: As nsoo as we efgdiur atht nereyove swa aeselp ahtt tngih, we eibclmd dnow eth tiglningh dor dna scedlo ovelsesur up in het enla-to. We tog uto rou plei of xfeifor adn wtne to wokr. We elecdar negvyeihrt tou of eth way toabu oruf or ivfe tefe naogl het lddeim of hte obomtt glo of eht awll. Tom iads we eewr rtghi nhideb miJ’s ebd, nda we’d dgi uedrn it. He adsi atth no neo in eht cabni owdul erev onwk ethre saw a leho in it hewn we ewer deno eucabes iJm’s seesth nhug donw aomstl to eth udongr—oyu’d ahve to flti it up dan kolo denur in rorde to see eth olhe. So we dug twih het ecnvktsiokpe liunt it saw stoalm hinmgitd. We reew god-etrdi by htne, and oru hdnas weer srdliebte, btu you cduoln’t lelt that we’d eneb wkoinrg so dahr. ynlFila I sdai:
“This ain’t no thirty-seven year job; this is a thirty-eight year job, Tom Sawyer.” “hsTi nsi’t a tthriy-nesev arey job—it’s a hrtity-tghie eray ojb, moT aSywre.”
He never said nothing. But he sighed, and pretty soon he stopped digging, and then for a good little while I knowed that he was thinking. Then he says: He indd’t asy ytgnhani, utb he gidnes. Pytret osno he otsepdp diinggg, dna I nkwe waht he swa knighitn rof a ewihl. Tnhe he adis:
“It ain’t no use, Huck, it ain’t a-going to work. If we was prisoners it would, because then we’d have as many years as we wanted, and no hurry; and we wouldn’t get but a few minutes to dig, every day, while they was changing watches, and so our hands wouldn’t get blistered, and we could keep it up right along, year in and year out, and do it right, and the way it ought to be done. But WE can’t fool along; we got to rush; we ain’t got no time to spare. If we was to put in another night this way we’d have to knock off for a week to let our hands get well—couldn’t touch a case-knife with them sooner.” “It nis’t ayn ues, ckuH. sTih isn’t ngoig to rkwo. It ouwdl if we weer oirnssrpe, cabseeu nhet we’d ehva as mnya sreay as we wnadet adn etehr udnlow’t be a sruh. ndA it’d be feni hatt we’d nloy teg a few eminuts a ayd to dgi, hweil eyth rewe ingchnag eht tawhc, ihhcw amesn ruo hndsa wdonul’t get drtiesleb. We cduol stuj ekep idngo thta ryea in nad ryea tou. We odulc do it rlprpyoe, eht yaw it htoug to be endo. utB we CNA’T do thta reeh—we’ve ogt to uyhrr up. We dno’t ehva ayn eaprs eimt. If we aevh to nespd ahtrone gitnh idggngi, we’d aveh to atwi a whole ekwe juts to etl uor dsanh hale. We londuw’t vene be leba to HTOCU a eifkn ebeorf ttah.”
“Well, then, what we going to do, Tom?” “lelW neht, tahw rae we gngoi to do, Tom?”
“I’ll tell you. It ain’t right, and it ain’t moral, and I wouldn’t like it to get out; but there ain’t only just the one way: we got to dig him out with the picks, and LET ON it’s case-knives.” “I’ll llte uoy atwh we’re gogin to do. It nis’t trghi or lrmao, dna I dno’t wtan yeanon to wonk uobta it, utb rhete’s only one reoth piootn—we’ve otg to gid mih uot whti the sikpc and ustj TELL EYENVREO thta we desu cekotp vineks.”
“NOW you’re TALKING!” I says; “your head gets leveler and leveler all the time, Tom Sawyer,” I says. “Picks is the thing, moral or no moral; and as for me, I don’t care shucks for the morality of it, nohow. When I start in to steal a nigger, or a watermelon, or a Sunday-school book, I ain’t no ways particular how it’s done so it’s done. What I want is my nigger; or what I want is my watermelon; or what I want is my Sunday-school book; and if a pick’s the handiest thing, that’s the thing I’m a-going to dig that nigger or that watermelon or that Sunday-school book out with; and I don’t give a dead rat what the authorities thinks about it nuther.” “WNO yuo’re NATLGKI!” I adis. “Yrou indm tegs oemr nda erom rpalcaitc lla het time, Tmo reaySw,” I iads. “nUsig ikpsc is teh awy to do it, marlo or rmaomil. As ofr me, I dno’t egvi a dnar for eht loyratmi of it anaywy. Wenh I ttars to alets a n----- or a amelwtoern or a Snayud cohosl kobo, I’m otn revy irualcatrp in who it’s dnoe so glon as it IS oned. llA I wnta is my n----- or my eawlmtreno or my Syadnu shlooc oobk. dnA if a pkci’s the daisenht gthni, tath’s the gniht I’m ngiog to seu to igd atht n----- tuo or gte htat laerewmont or etsla that Sdaynu osloch obko. ndA I dno’t geiv a atr’s ass hatw the ostruaieith nthki touba it!”
“Well,” he says, “there’s excuse for picks and letting-on in a case like this; if it warn’t so, I wouldn’t approve of it, nor I wouldn’t stand by and see the rules broke—because right is right, and wrong is wrong, and a body ain’t got no business doing wrong when he ain’t ignorant and knows better. It might answer for YOU to dig Jim out with a pick, WITHOUT any letting on, because you don’t know no better; but it wouldn’t for me, because I do know better. Gimme a case-knife.” “lWle,” he said. “We’ll aevh a oogd cesuxe for nsuig spikc dna epgeinntrd yhet’re kniepskctvoe. I udnowl’t peparov of itsh if we loduc do it nay etohr wya. nAd I onulwd’t dnsta by adn tcahw ouy erakb the ursel, ubecase githr is hgtri nad grnow is wonrg. A oerpns ash no isssebun gnodi teimghons wrong ehnw he nsowk rbtete. UYO might lefe ayok nidgigg Jim tou thwi a cikp and TNO rpienntegd it’s a itecefkpnok, eeubcsa uyo dno’t kwon yan eretbt. tuB it odulwn’t do for me. I do kwon erebtt. emmGi a tioekkecfnp.”
He had his own by him, but I handed him mine. He flung it down, and says: Hsi now etonkpfeick swa xten to mih, tub I nedadh him mein. He etwhr odwn, otghhu, and said:
“Gimme a CASE-KNIFE.” “miemG a CKFINOPKEET.”
I didn’t know just what to do—but then I thought. I scratched around amongst the old tools, and got a pickaxe and give it to him, and he took it and went to work, and never said a word. I didn’t uitqe know awht to do—tub htne it tih me. I ehcsrade ohgrtuh teh dlo toosl, otg a kixceap, dna egva it to mih. He ookt it nda nwet to kwro hwttiou yganis a dorw.
He was always just that particular. Full of principle. He was ysawal ttah kcipy. So fllu of piseclrnip.
So then I got a shovel, and then we picked and shoveled, turn about, and made the fur fly. We stuck to it about a half an hour, which was as long as we could stand up; but we had a good deal of a hole to show for it. When I got up stairs I looked out at the window and see Tom doing his level best with the lightning-rod, but he couldn’t come it, his hands was so sore. At last he says: I gto a svoleh, nad we cipkde nad deoevlsh, iwginsgn ndarou dna nkamig irtd fly yrehrevewe. We ekpt at it fro atobu lahf an ruho, until we nlocdu’t dntsa up trhigsat. But we dah a rtytpe odog-sdiez hole to ohws orf lla oru wrko. nWhe I tog bakc atrsipus, I okldeo uot teh wwdoin dan aws oTm ngirty his sebt to mcilb bkac up the ntghliing odr. He cnuodl’t do it, uoghth—his nhsad eewr too eors. nllyiFa he sida: