Приключения Тома Сойера / The Adventures of Tom Sawyer. Марк Твен

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      “You are.”

      “I ain’t.”

      “You are.”

      Another pause. Presently they were shoulder to shoulder. Tom said:

      “Get away from here!”

      “Go away yourself!”

      “I won’t.”

      “I won’t either.”

      So they stood, glowering at each other with hate. But neither could get an advantage. Tom said:

      “You’re a coward and a pup. I’ll tell my big brother on you, and he can beat you with his little finger, and I’ll make him do it, too.”

      “What do I care for your big brother? I’ve got a brother that’s bigger than he is—and what’s more, he can throw him over that fence, too.”

      –

      “That’s a lie.”

      “Your saying so don’t make it so.”

      Tom drew a line in the dust with his foot and said:

      “I dare you to step over that, and I’ll lick you till you can’t stand up.”

      The new boy stepped over promptly, and said:

      “Now you said you’d do it, now let’s see you do it.”

      “Don’t you crowd me now; you better look out.”

      “Well, you said you’d do it—why don’t you do it?”

      “For two cents I will do it.”

      The new boy took two broad coppers out of his pocket and held them out. Tom struck them to the ground. In an instant both boys were rolling and tumbling in the dirt, gripped together like cats; and for the space of a minute they tugged and tore at each other’s hair and clothes, punched and scratched each other’s nose, and covered themselves with dust and glory. Presently the confusion took form, and through the fog of battle Tom appeared, seated astride the new boy, and pounding him with his fists.

      The boy only struggled to free himself. He was crying—mainly from rage.

      At last the stranger got out a smothered “Enough!” and Tom let him go and said:

      “Now that’ll learn you. Better look out who you’re fooling with next time.”

      The new boy went off brushing the dust from his clothes, sobbing, and shouting what he would do to Tom the “next time he caught him out[5].’

      When Tom’s turned to go, the new boy took a stone, threw it, hit him Tom between the shoulders and then ran away as fast as he could. Tom chased him home, and waited at the gate for some time, inviting the enemy to come outside. At last the enemy’s mother appeared, and called Tom a bad, evil child.

      Tom got home rather late that night, and when he climbed in through the window, he was caught by his aunt immediately. When she saw the state of his clothes her resolution to turn his Saturday holiday into captivity at hard labor became set in stone.

      Chapter II

      Saturday morning came, and all the summer world was bright and fresh. There was a song in every heart and a smile on every face.

      But Tom was not very happy when he appeared in the street with a bucket of whitewash and a brush with a long handle. When he looked at the fence, so long and high, he felt depressed. Sighing, he dipped his brush and passed it along the top plank; repeated the motion; did it again; compared the insignificant whitewashed streak with the enormous continent of unwhitewashed fence, and sat down in the shade, discouraged.

      Then he saw Jim, a slave boy, who was running out of the gate with a bucket. Tom himself had always hated bringing water from the town pump. But it seemed better than whitewashing. Tom said:

      “I say, Jim, I’ll bring the water if you whitewash a part of the fence.”

      Jim shook his head and said:

      “I can’t, master Tom. Your aunt said you had to do it all. She’ll be angry if she learns that I helped you.”

      “Oh, never you mind what she said, Jim. That’s the way she always talks. Gimme the bucket—I will be gone only a minute. She won’t ever know.”

      When the boys noticed Aunt Polly coming out of the house Jim ran away with his bucket and Tom got back to whitewashing[6]. But his energy did not last. He began to think of the fun he had planned for this day. He got out his wealth out of his pocket and examined it—bits of toys, marbles, and trash; enough to buy an exchange of work, maybe, but not enough to buy even half an hour of pure freedom.

      At this dark and hopeless moment he found a way out.

      He took up his brush and went to work. Ben Rogers—the very boy, of all boys, whose ridicule Tom had been dreading—was walking along the street eating an apple. From time to time he produced melodious sounds: ding-dong-dong, ding-dong-dong, for he was impersonating a steamboat[7]. As he came closer, he called:

      “Tom!”

      No answer. Tom was whitewashing the fence; he surveyed his last touch with the eye of an artist, then gave his brush another gentle sweep and surveyed the result, as before. Tom’s mouth watered for the apple, but he continued working. Ben said:

      “Hello, old chap!”

      Tom turned to Ben.

      “Why, it’s you, Ben! I didn’t notice you.”

      “I’m going swimming. Don’t you wish you could? But of course you’d rather work—wouldn’t you? Course you would!”

      “What do you call work?”

      “Why, isn’t THAT work?”

      Tom continued his whitewashing, and answered carelessly:

      “Well, maybe it is, and maybe it isn’t. All I know is it suits Tom Sawyer.”

      “Don’t say you LIKE it. I won’t believe you!”

      The brush continued to move.

      “Like it? Well, does a boy get a chance to whitewash a fence every day?’

      That put the thing in a new light. Ben stopped biting his apple. He was watching Tom’s every move and was getting more and more interested. At last he said:

      “Tom, let ME whitewash a little.”

      Tom considered it, and then said:

      “If it was the back fence I wouldn’t mind and Aunt Polly wouldn’t. But it’s the front fence; it must be done very carefully. There isn’t one boy in a thousand, maybe two thousand, that can do it the СКАЧАТЬ