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Las aventuras de Tom Sawyer
Capítulo 4, Página 5
Tom
displayed
his
collection.
They
were
satisfactory,
and
the
property
exchanged
hands.
Then
Tom
traded
a
couple
of
white
marbles
for
three
red
tickets,
and
some
small
item
for
two
blue
ones.
He
ambushed
other
boys
as
they
arrived,
continuing
to
buy
tickets
of
various
colors
for
another
ten
or
fifteen
minutes.
He
entered
the
church
with
a
crowd
of
clean
and
noisy
boys
and
girls,
went
to
his
seat,
and
started
a
quarrel
with
the
first
boy
nearby.
The
teacher,
a
serious,
elderly
man,
intervened;
then
turned
his
back
momentarily,
and
Tom
pulled
a
boy’s
hair
in
the
next
row,
pretending
to
be
absorbed
in
his
book
when
the
boy
turned
around;
he
stuck
a
pin
in
another
boy
shortly
after
to
hear
him
say
“Ouch!”
and
received
another
reprimand
from
his
teacher.
Tom’s
entire
class
was
the
same—restless,
noisy,
and
troublesome.
When
they
recited
their
lessons,
none
of
them
knew
their
verses
perfectly
and
needed
prompting
throughout.
Still,
they
struggled
through,
and
each
received
their
reward—in
small
blue
tickets,
each
with
a
Scripture
passage
on
it;
each
blue
ticket
was
payment
for
two
verses
of
the
recitation.
Ten
blue
tickets
equaled
a
red
one,
and
could
be
exchanged
for
it;
ten
red
tickets
equaled
a
yellow
one;
for
ten
yellow
tickets,
the
superintendent
awarded
a
very
plainly
bound
Bible
(worth
forty
cents
in
those
simpler
times)
to
the
pupil.
How
many
of
my
readers
would
have
the
dedication
and
effort
to
memorize
two
thousand
verses,
even
for
a
Doré
Bible?
Yet
Mary
had
acquired
two
Bibles
this
way—it
was
the
patient
work
of
two
years—and
a
boy
of
German
descent
had
won
four
or
five.
He
once
recited
three
thousand
verses
without
stopping;
but
the
mental
strain
was
too
much,
and
he
was
little
better
than
an
idiot
from
that
day
on—a
grievous
loss
for
the
school,
for
on
special
occasions,
in
front
of
guests,
the
superintendent
(as
Tom
put
it)
always
made
this
boy
come
forward
and
“show
off.”
Only
the
older
students
managed
to
keep
their
tickets
and
stick
to
their
tedious
work
long
enough
to
earn
a
Bible,
so
the
delivery
of
one
of
these
prizes
was
a
rare
and
noteworthy
event;
the
successful
pupil
was
so
celebrated
for
that
day
that
every
student’s
heart
was
inspired
with
fresh
ambition
that
often
lasted
a
couple
of
weeks.
It
is
possible
that
Tom’s
mind
never
truly
desired
one
of
those
prizes,
but
undoubtedly
his
entire
being
had
longed
for
the
glory
and
fame
that
came
with
it.
Eventually,
the
superintendent
stood
up
in
front
of
the
pulpit,
holding
a
closed
hymn-book
with
his
forefinger
between
its
pages,
and
commanded
attention.
When
a
Sunday-school
superintendent
makes
his
usual
little
speech,
a
hymn-book
in
hand
is
as
necessary
as
a
sheet
of
music
for
a
singer
performing
a
solo
at
a
concert—though
why,
remains
a
mystery:
neither
the
hymn-book
nor
the
music
sheet
is
ever
used
by
the
speaker.
This
superintendent
was
a
slim
man
of
thirty-five,
with
a
sandy
goatee
and
short
sandy
hair;
he
wore
a
stiff
collar
that
almost
reached
his
ears,
with
sharp
points
curving
forward
near
the
corners
of
his
mouth—a
barrier
that
required
looking
straight
ahead
and
turning
his
whole
body
for
a
side
view;
his
chin
rested
on
a
wide
cravat
as
broad
and
long
as
a
bank-note,
with
fringed
ends;
his
boot
toes
turned
sharply
up,
like
sleigh-runners—a
style
achieved
by
young
men
by
sitting
with
their
toes
pressed
against
a
wall
for
hours.
Mr.
Walters
was
very
earnest
in
appearance,
and
very
sincere
and
honest
at
heart;
he
held
sacred
things
and
places
in
such
reverence,
separating
them
from
worldly
matters,
that
without
realizing
it,
his
Sunday-school
voice
had
acquired
a
peculiar
tone
absent
on
weekdays.
He
began
in
this
manner:
“Now,
children,
I
want
you
all
to
sit
up
as
straight
and
nicely
as
you
can
and
give
me
all
your
attention
for
a
minute
or
two.
There—that’s
it.
That’s
how
good
little
boys
and
girls
should
behave.
I
see
one
little
girl
looking
out
the
window—I’m
afraid
she
thinks
I’m
out
there
somewhere—perhaps
up
in
one
of
the
trees
giving
a
speech
to
the
little
birds.
[Laughter.]
I
want
to
tell
you
how
happy
it
makes
me
to
see
so
many
bright,
clean
little
faces
gathered
in
a
place
like
this,
learning
to
do
right
and
be
good.”
And
so
on.
There’s
no
need
to
write
down
the
rest
of
the
speech.
It
was
of
a
kind
that
doesn’t
change,
and
so
it’s
familiar
to
us
all.
The
last
third
of
the
speech
was
disrupted
by
the
resumption
of
fights
and
other
activities
among
some
of
the
naughty
boys,
and
by
fidgeting
and
whispering
that
spread
widely,
reaching
even
the
bases
of
isolated
and
incorruptible
rocks
like
Sid
and
Mary.
But
now
every
noise
stopped
suddenly,
with
the
fading
of
Mr.
Walters’
voice,
and
the
end
of
the
speech
was
met
with
a
burst
of
silent
gratitude.
Much
of
the
whispering
had
been
caused
by
an
event
that
was
somewhat
rare—the
entrance
of
visitors:
lawyer
Thatcher,
accompanied
by
a
very
weak
and
aged
man;
a
fine,
portly,
middle-aged
gentleman
with
iron-gray
hair;
and
a
dignified
lady
who
was
likely
the
gentleman’s
wife.
The
lady
was
leading
a
child.
Tom
had
been
restless
and
full
of
irritation
and
regrets;
feeling
guilty,
too—he
couldn’t
meet
Amy
Lawrence’s
eyes,
he
couldn’t
endure
her
loving
gaze.
But
when
he
saw
this
small
newcomer,
his
soul
was
suddenly
filled
with
joy.
The
next
moment
he
was
“showing
off”
with
all
his
might—cuffing
boys,
pulling
hair,
making
faces—in
short,
using
every
trick
that
seemed
likely
to
captivate
a
girl
and
win
her
applause.
His
excitement
had
only
one
blemish—the
memory
of
his
embarrassment
in
this
angel’s
garden—and
that
record
in
sand
was
quickly
washing
away,
under
the
waves
of
happiness
now
sweeping
over
it.
The
visitors
were
given
the
highest
seat
of
honor,
and
as
soon
as
Mr.
Walters’
speech
was
finished,
he
introduced
them
to
the
school.
The
middle-aged
man
turned
out
to
be
a
remarkable
person—no
less
than
the
county
judge—the
most
impressive
figure
these
children
had
ever
seen—and
they
wondered
what
kind
of
material
he
was
made
of—and
they
half
wanted
to
hear
him
roar,
and
were
half
afraid
he
might,
too.
He
was
from
Constantinople,
twelve
miles
away—so
he
had
traveled,
and
seen
the
world—these
very
eyes
had
looked
upon
the
county
courthouse—which
was
said
to
have
a
tin
roof.
The
awe
these
thoughts
inspired
was
shown
by
the
impressive
silence
and
the
rows
of
staring
eyes.
This
was
the
great
Judge
Thatcher,
brother
of
their
own
lawyer.
Jeff
Thatcher
immediately
went
forward,
to
be
familiar
with
the
great
man
and
be
envied
by
the
school.
It
would
have
been
music
to
his
soul
to
hear
the
whispers:
“Look
at
him,
Jim!
He’s
going
up
there.
Say—look!
he’s
going
to
shake
hands
with
him—he
is
shaking
hands
with
him!
By
gosh,
don’t
you
wish
you
were
Jeff?”
Mr.
Walters
was
busy
"showing
off,"
bustling
around
with
authority,
giving
orders,
making
judgments,
and
directing
activities
wherever
he
found
an
opportunity.
The
librarian
was
also
"showing
off,"
darting
around
with
arms
full
of
books,
creating
a
fuss
like
someone
enjoying
their
minor
power.
The
young
lady
teachers
"showed
off"
by
sweetly
leaning
over
students
who
had
recently
been
scolded,
raising
gentle
fingers
at
naughty
boys,
and
affectionately
patting
the
good
ones.
The
young
gentlemen
teachers
"showed
off"
with
mild
scoldings
and
displays
of
authority,
paying
close
attention
to
discipline.
Most
teachers,
regardless
of
gender,
found
reasons
to
be
at
the
library
near
the
pulpit,
often
needing
to
redo
tasks
multiple
times,
seemingly
annoyed.
The
little
girls
"showed
off"
in
various
ways,
and
the
little
boys
with
such
enthusiasm
that
the
air
was
filled
with
paper
wads
and
the
sound
of
scuffles.
Above
it
all,
the
great
man
sat,
beaming
a
grand
judicial
smile
over
the
room,
basking
in
his
own
importance—for
he
was
"showing
off,"
too.
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Las aventuras de Tom Sawyer — B2 Inglés | Cuentana