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Mark Twain
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Tom Sawyer 2-02
Chapter 7
The harder Tom tried to fasten his mind on
his book, the more his ideas wandered. So at
last, with a sigh and a yawn, he gave it up. It
seemed to him that the noon recess would never
come. The air was utterly dead. There was not a
breath stirring. It was the sleepiest of sleepy
days. The drowsing murmur of the five and twenty
studying scholars soothed the soul like the
spell that is in the murmur of bees. Away off in
the flaming sunshine, Cardiff Hill lifted its
soft green sides through a shimmering veil of
heat, tinted with the purple of distance; a few
birds floated on lazy wing high in the air; no
other living thing was visible but some cows,
and they were asleep. Tom's heart ached to be
free, or else to have something of interest to
do to pass the dreary time. His hand wandered
into his pocket and his face lit up with a glow
of gratitude that was prayer, though he did not
know it. Then furtively the percussion-cap box
came out. He released the tick and put him on
the long flat desk. The creature probably glowed
with a gratitude that amounted to prayer, too,
at this moment, but it was premature: for when
he started thankfully to travel off, Tom turned
him aside with a pin and made him take a new
direction. Tom's bosom friend sat next him,
suffering just as Tom had been, and now he was
deeply and gratefully interested in this
entertainment in an instant. This bosom friend
was Joe Harper. The two boys were sworn friends
all the week, and embattled enemies on
Saturdays. Joe took a pin out of his lapel and
began to assist in exercising the prisoner. The
sport grew in interest momently. Soon Tom said
that they were interfering with each other, and
neither getting the fullest benefit of the tick.
So he put Joe's slate on the desk and drew a
line down the middle of it from top to bottom.
'Now,' said he, 'as long as he is on your side
you can stir him up and I'll let him alone; but
if you let him get away and get on my side,
you're to leave him alone as long as I can keep
him from crossing over.' 'All right, go ahead;
start him up.' The tick escaped from Tom,
presently, and crossed the equator. Joe harassed
him awhile, and then he got away and crossed
back again. This change of base occurred often.
While one boy was worrying the tick with
absorbing interest, the other would look on with
interest as strong, the two heads bowed together
over the slate, and the two souls dead to all
things else. At last luck seemed to settle and
abide with Joe. The tick tried this, that, and
the other course, and got as excited and as
anxious as the boys themselves, but time and
again just as he would have victory in his very
grasp, so to speak, and Tom's fingers would be
twitching to begin, Joe's pin would deftly head
him off, and keep possession. At last Tom could
stand it no longer. The temptation was too
strong. So he reached out and lent a hand with
his pin. Joe was angry in a moment. Said he:
'Tom, you let him alone.' 'I only just want to
stir him up a little, Joe.' 'No, sir, it ain't
fair; you just let him alone.' 'Blame it, I
ain't going to stir him much.' 'Let him alone, I
tell you.' 'I won't!' 'You shall - he's on my
side of the line.' 'Look here, Joe Harper, whose
is that tick?' 'I don't care whose tick he is -
he's on my side of the line, and you sha'n't
touch him.' 'Well, I'll just bet I will, though.
He's my tick and I'll do what I blame please
with him, or die!' A tremendous whack came down
on Tom's shoulders, and its duplicate on Joe's;
and for the space of two minutes the dust
continued to fly from the two jackets and the
whole school to enjoy it. The boys had been too
absorbed to notice the hush that had stolen upon
the school awhile before when the master came
tiptoeing down the room and stood over them. He
had contemplated a good part of the performance
before he contributed his bit of variety to it.
When school broke up at noon, Tom flew to Becky
Thatcher, and whispered in her ear: 'Put on your
bonnet and let on you're going home; and when
you get to the corner, give the rest of 'em the
slip, and turn down through the lane and come
back. I'll go the other way and come it over 'em
the same way.' So the one went off with one
group of scholars, and the other with another.
In a little while the two met at the bottom of
the lane, and when they reached the school they
had it all to themselves. Then they sat
together, with a slate before them, and Tom gave
Becky the pencil and held her hand in his,
guiding it, and so created another surprising
house. When the interest in art began to wane,
the two fell to talking. Tom was swimming in
bliss. He said: 'Do you love rats?' 'No! I hate
them!' 'Well, I do, too - live ones. But I mean
dead ones, to swing round your head with a
string.' 'No, I don't care for rats much,
anyway. What I like is chewing-gum.' 'Oh, I
should say so! I wish I had some now.' 'Do you?
I've got some. I'll let you chew it awhile, but
you must give it back to me.' That was
agreeable, so they chewed it turn about, and
dangled their legs against the bench in excess
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of contentment. 'Was you ever at a circus?' said
Tom. 'Yes, and my pa's going to take me again
some time, if I'm good.' 'I been to the circus
three or four times - lots of times. Church
ain't shucks to a circus. There's things going
on at a circus all the time. I'm going to be a
clown in a circus when I grow up.' 'Oh, are you!
That will be nice. They're so lovely, all
spotted up.' 'Yes, that's so. And they get
slathers of money - most a dollar a day, Ben
Rogers says. Say, Becky, was you ever engaged?'
'What's that?' 'Why, engaged to be married.'
'No.' 'Would you like to?' 'I reckon so. I don't
know. What is it like?' 'Like? Why it ain't like
anything. You only just tell a boy you won't
ever have anybody but him, ever ever ever, and
then you kiss and that's all. Anybody can do
it.' 'Kiss? What do you kiss for?' 'Why, that,
you know, is to - well, they always do that.'
'Everybody?' 'Why, yes, everybody that's in love
with each other. Do you remember what I wrote on
the slate?' 'Ye - yes.' 'What was it?' 'I
sha'n't tell you.' 'Shall I tell you?' 'Ye - yes
- but some other time.' 'No, now.' 'No, not now
- to-morrow.' 'Oh, no, now. Please, Becky - I'll
whisper it, I'll whisper it ever so easy.' Becky
hesitating, Tom took silence for consent, and
passed his arm about her waist and whispered the
tale ever so softly, with his mouth close to her
ear. And then he added: 'Now you whisper it to
me - just the same.' She resisted, for a while,
and then said: 'You turn your face away so you
can't see, and then I will. But you mustn't ever
tell anybody - Will you, Tom? Now you won't,
will you?' 'No, indeed, indeed I won't. Now,
Becky.' He turned his face away. She bent
timidly around till her breath stirred his curls
and whispered, 'I - love - you!' Then she sprang
away and ran around and around the desks and
benches, with Tom after her, and took refuge in
a corner at last, with her little white apron to
her face. Tom clasped her about her neck and
pleaded: 'Now, Becky, it's all done - all over
but the kiss. Don't you be afraid of that - it
ain't anything at all. Please, Becky.' And he
tugged at her apron and the hands. By and by she
gave up, and let her hands drop; her face, all
glowing with the struggle, came up and
submitted. Tom kissed the red lips and said:
'Now it's all done, Becky. And always after
this, you know, you ain't ever to love anybody
but me, and you ain't ever to marry anybody but
me, ever never and forever. Will you?' 'No, I'll
never love anybody but you, Tom, and I'll never
marry anybody but you - and you ain't to ever
marry anybody but me, either.' 'Certainly. Of
course. That's part of it. And always coming to
school or when we're going home, you're to walk
with me, when there ain't anybody looking - and
you choose me and I choose you at parties,
because that's the way you do when you're
engaged.' 'It's so nice. I never heard of it
before.' 'Oh, it's ever so gay! Why, me and Amy
Lawrence -' The big eyes told Tom his blunder
and he stopped, confused. 'Oh, Tom! Then I ain't
the first you've ever been engaged to!' The
child began to cry. Tom said: 'Oh, don't cry,
Becky, I don't care for her any more.' 'Yes, you
do, Tom - you know you do.' Tom tried to put his
arm about her neck, but she pushed him away and
turned her face to the wall, and went on crying.
Tom tried again, with soothing words in his
mouth, and was repulsed again. Then his pride
was up, and he strode away and went outside. He
stood about, restless and uneasy, for a while,
glancing at the door, every now and then, hoping
she would repent and come to find him. But she
did not. Then he began to feel badly and fear
that he was in the wrong. It was a hard struggle
with him to make new advances, now, but he
nerved himself to it and entered. She was still
standing back there in the corner, sobbing, with
her face to the wall. Tom's heart smote him. He
went to her and stood a moment, not knowing
exactly how to proceed. Then he said
hesitatingly: 'Becky, I - I don't care for
anybody but you.' No reply - but sobs. 'Becky' -
pleadingly. 'Becky, won't you say something?'
More sobs. Tom got out his chiefest jewel, a
brass knob from the top of an andiron, and
passed it around her so that she could see it,
and said: 'Please, Becky, won't you take it?'
She struck it to the floor. Then Tom marched out
of the house and over the hills and far away, to
return to school no more that day. Presently
Becky began to suspect. She ran to the door; he
was not in sight; she flew around to the
play-yard; he was not there. Then she called:
'Tom! Come back, Tom!' She listened intently,
but there was no answer. She had no companions
but silence and loneliness. So she sat down to
cry again and upbraid herself; and by this time
the scholars began to gather again, and she had
to hide her griefs and still her broken heart
and take up the cross of a long, dreary, aching
afternoon, with none among the strangers about
her to exchange sorrows with.
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