Well, all day him and the king was hard at it, putting up a stage and a curtain and a line of candles for foot lights; and that night the house was full of men in no time. When the place couldn’t hold no more, the duke he quit working on the door and went around the back and come up onto the stage and stood up before the curtain and gave a little talk about how good the show was going to be, and said it was the most wild one that ever was; and so he went on a-talking about how good it was, and about Edmund Kean the Older, who was to play the most important part in it; and at last when he’d got everybody’s interest up high enough, he pushed up the curtain, and the next minute the king come a-walking out on all fours, without any clothes on; and he was painted all over in stripes, all kinds of colours, as beautiful as a rainbow. And -- but I won’t talk about the other things he had on; it was just wild, but it was awful funny. The people almost killed themselves laughing; and when the king got finished dancing around and walked off behind the scenes, they shouted and clapped and stormed and laughed until he come back and done it over again, and after that they made him do it another time. Well, it would make a cow laugh to see the things that old man did.
Then the duke he lets the curtain down, and bows to the people, and says the great show will be done only two nights more, because of big shows waiting for them in London, where people have already paid to see it in Drury Lane; and then he makes them another bow, and says if he has made them happy and taught them something about Shakespeare, he will be deeply thankful if they will talk about it to their friends and get them to come and see it.
Twenty people sings out: "What, is it over? Is that all?"
The duke says yes. Then there was an interesting time. Everybody sings out, "You tricked us!" and gets up angry, and was a-going for that stage and them actors. But a big, nice looking man jumps up on a bench and shouts: "Hold on! Just a word, men."
They stopped to listen. "We were tricked -- mighty badly tricked. But we don’t want the whole town laughing at us. We'd never hear the last of this thing as long as we live. No. What we want is to go out of here quiet, and talk this show up, and sell the others in town! Then we’ll all be in the same boat. Ain’t that smart?" ("True, it is! The judge is right!" everybody sings out.) "All right, then, not a word about any trick. Go along home, and tell everybody to come and see the show."
Next day you couldn’t hear nothing around town but how good the show was. House was filled again that night, and we tricked this crowd the same way. When me and the king and the duke got home to the raft we all had a meal; and by and by, about midnight, they made Jim and me back her out and move her down the middle of the river, and bring her in and hide her about two miles below town.
The third night the house was filled again -- and they weren’t new ones this time, but people that was at the show the other two nights. I stood by the duke at the door, and I see that every man that went in had his pockets full, or something pushed up under his coat -- and I see it weren’t nice smells either, not by a long way. I could smell sick eggs by the barrel, and very old cabbages, and such things; and if I know the signs of a dead cat being around, and I think I do, there was sixty-four of them went in. I pushed in there for a minute, but it was too strange for me; I couldn’t take it.
Well, when the place couldn’t hold no more the duke he give a man a coin and told him to work the door for him a minute, and then he started around for the stage door, with me after him; but the minute we turned the corner and was in the dark he says: "Walk fast now until you get away from the houses, and then run for the raft like the devil was after you!"
I done it, and he done the same. We reached the raft at the same time, and in less than two seconds we was going down the river, all dark and quiet, and moving toward the middle of the river, nobody saying a word.
I thought the poor king was in for a bad time of it with the crowd, but none of that; pretty soon he comes out from under the tent, and says: "Well, how’d the old thing work out this time, duke?" He hadn’t been up to town at all.
We never showed a light until we was about ten miles below the village. Then we put the light up and had a meal, and the king and the duke almost laughed their bones loose over the way they’d served them people.
The duke says: "What stupid people! I knew the first house would keep quiet and let the others get pulled in; and I knew they’d go for us the third night, and think it was their turn now. Well, it is their turn, and they can turn it into a party if they want -- they brought enough food for it."
Them two took in four hundred and sixty-five dollars in those three nights. I never see money pulled in by the wagon full like that before.
By and by, when they was asleep and snoring, Jim says: "Don’t it surprise you de way dem kings carries on, Huck?"
"No," I says, "it don’t."
"Why don’t it, Huck?"
"Because it’s in the blood. I think they’re all the same."
"But, Huck, dese kings of ours is like robbers; dat’s just what dey is; dey’s robbers."
"Well, that’s what I’m a-saying; all kings is mostly robbers, as far as I can make out."
"Is dat so?"
"You read about them once -- you’ll see. Look at Henry the Eight; this one is a Sunday-school teacher 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; they all used to run around so in old times and make like hell. My, you should a seen old Henry the Eight when he was at his best. He was a flower. He used to marry a new wife every day, and cut off her head next morning. And he would do it just as easy as if he was asking for eggs for breakfast. ‘Bring up Nell Gwynn,’ he says. They bring her up. Next morning, ‘Cut off her head!’ And they cut it off. ‘Bring up Jane Shore,’ he says; and up she comes, Next morning, ‘Cut off her head’ -- and they cut it off. ‘Ring for Fair Rosamun.’ Fair Rosamun answers the bell. Next morning, ‘Cut off her head.’ And he made every one of them tell him a story every night; and he kept that up until he had saved a thousand and one stories that way, and then he put them all in a book, and called it the Domesday Book -- which was a good name and said what it was about. You don’t know kings, Jim, but I know them; and this old man of ours is one of the cleanest I’ve seen in history. Well, Henry he starts feeling he wants to get up some trouble with this country. How does he go at it? Does he say so? Does he warn the country? No. Without warning, he throws all the tea in Boston out of the ships, and starts a war. That was his way -- he never give anyone a way to get away. He didn’t trust his father, the Duke of Wellington. Well, what did he do? Ask him to show up? No, he drowned him, like a cat. If people left money lying around where he was -- what did he do? He took it. If you had an agreement for him to do a thing, and you paid him, and didn’t sit down there and see that he done it -- what did he do? He always done the other thing. If he opened his mouth -- what then? If he didn’t shut it up very quickly he’d lose a lie every time. That’s the kind of insect Henry was; and if we’d a had him along instead of our kings he’d a tricked that town a lot worse than ours done. I don’t say that ours is lambs, because they ain’t, when you come right down to the cold truth; but they ain’t nothing to that old goat. All I say is, kings is kings, and you got to make room for that. Take them all around, they’re a mighty bad lot. It’s the way they’re brought up."
"But dis one do smell so, Huck."
"Well, they all do, Jim. We can’t help the way a king smells; history don’t tell no way."
"Now de duke, he’s a good enough man in some ways."
"Yes, a duke’s different. But not very different. This one’s a little bad for a duke. When he’s drunk there ain’t no man could tell him from a king."
"Well, anyway, I don’t want no more of ‘em, Huck. Dese is all I can stand."
"It’s the way I feel, too, Jim. But we’ve got them on our hands, and we got to remember what they are, and make space for that. Times I wish we could hear of a country that’s out of kings."
What was the use to tell Jim these weren’t real kings and dukes? It wouldn’t a done no good; and, besides, it was just as I said: you couldn’t tell them from the real kind.
I went to sleep, and Jim didn’t call me when it was my turn. He often done that. When I waked up just as the sun was coming up he was sitting there with his head down between his knees, moaning and feeling sad to himself. I didn’t let on that I saw it. I knowed what it was about. He was thinking about his wife and his children, away up north, and he was low and sad; because he hadn’t ever been away from home before in his life; and I do believe he cared just as much for his people as white people does for theirs. It don’t seem like that could be true, but I think it is. He was often moaning and feeling sad that way nights, when he judged I was asleep, and saying, "Poor little Elizabeth! poor little Johnny! it’s mighty hard; it seems I ain’t ever gwyne to see you no more, no more!" He was a mighty good nigger, Jim was.
But this time, one way or another, I got to talking to him about his wife and young ones; and by and by he says: "What makes me feel so bad dis time was because I hear sumpin over on de side of de river like a hit or a slap, a while ago, and it made me think of de time I act so rough toward my Elizabeth. She weren’t only about four years old, and she took sick and had a powerful rough time of it; but she got well, and one day she was a-standing around, and I says to her, I says: ’Shut de door.’
"She never done it; just stood dere, kind a smiling up at me. It made me angry; and I says again, mighty loud, I says: ’Don’t you hear me? Shut de door!’
"She just stood de same way, kind a smiling up. I was a-burning up! I says: ’I know how to make you do what I say!’
"And wid dat I give her a slap up side de head dat sent her to de ground’. Den I went into de other room, and was gone about ten minutes; and when I come back dere was dat door a-standing open yet, and dat child standing almost right in it, a-looking down and being sad, and de tears running down. My, but I was angry! I was a-gwyne for de child, but just den -- it was a door dat open in -- just den, along come de wind and force it to, behind de child, ker-blam! -- and my land, de child never moved! My breevin’ almost stopped; and I feel so -- so -- I don’t know how I feel. I went quietly out, all a-shaking, and went secretly around and open de door easy and slow, and put my head in behind de child, soft and quiet, and then I says BANG! just as loud as I could shout. She never moved! Oh, Huck, I break out a-crying and take her up in my arms, and say, ‘Oh, de poor little thing! De Lord God forgive poor old Jim, because he never gwyne to forgive himself as long as he lives!’ Oh, she couldn’t hear, Huck, she was deaf, and I’d been a-doing dat to her!"