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Las aventuras de Tom Sawyer
Capítulo 21, Página 1
Vacation
was
approaching.
The
schoolmaster,
always
severe,
grew
severer
and
more
exacting
than
ever,
for
he
wanted
the
school
to
make
a
good
showing
on
“Examination”
day.
His
rod
and
his
ferule
were
seldom
idle
now—at
least
among
the
smaller
pupils.
Only
the
biggest
boys,
and
young
ladies
of
eighteen
and
twenty,
escaped
lashing.
Mr.
Dobbins’
lashings
were
very
vigorous
ones,
too;
for
although
he
carried,
under
his
wig,
a
perfectly
bald
and
shiny
head,
he
had
only
reached
middle
age,
and
there
was
no
sign
of
feebleness
in
his
muscle.
As
the
great
day
approached,
all
the
tyranny
that
was
in
him
came
to
the
surface;
he
seemed
to
take
a
vindictive
pleasure
in
punishing
the
least
shortcomings.
The
consequence
was,
that
the
smaller
boys
spent
their
days
in
terror
and
suffering
and
their
nights
in
plotting
revenge.
They
threw
away
no
opportunity
to
do
the
master
a
mischief.
But
he
kept
ahead
all
the
time.
The
retribution
that
followed
every
vengeful
success
was
so
sweeping
and
majestic
that
the
boys
always
retired
from
the
field
badly
worsted.
At
last
they
conspired
together
and
hit
upon
a
plan
that
promised
a
dazzling
victory.
They
swore
in
the
signpainter’s
boy,
told
him
the
scheme,
and
asked
his
help.
He
had
his
own
reasons
for
being
delighted,
for
the
master
boarded
in
his
father’s
family
and
had
given
the
boy
ample
cause
to
hate
him.
The
master’s
wife
would
go
on
a
visit
to
the
country
in
a
few
days,
and
there
would
be
nothing
to
interfere
with
the
plan;
the
master
always
prepared
himself
for
great
occasions
by
getting
pretty
well
fuddled,
and
the
signpainter’s
boy
said
that
when
the
dominie
had
reached
the
proper
condition
on
Examination
Evening
he
would
“manage
the
thing”
while
he
napped
in
his
chair;
then
he
would
have
him
awakened
at
the
right
time
and
hurried
away
to
school.
In
the
fulness
of
time
the
interesting
occasion
arrived.
At
eight
in
the
evening
the
schoolhouse
was
brilliantly
lighted,
and
adorned
with
wreaths
and
festoons
of
foliage
and
flowers.
The
master
sat
throned
in
his
great
chair
upon
a
raised
platform,
with
his
blackboard
behind
him.
He
was
looking
tolerably
mellow.
Three
rows
of
benches
on
each
side
and
six
rows
in
front
of
him
were
occupied
by
the
dignitaries
of
the
town
and
by
the
parents
of
the
pupils.
To
his
left,
back
of
the
rows
of
citizens,
was
a
spacious
temporary
platform
upon
which
were
seated
the
scholars
who
were
to
take
part
in
the
exercises
of
the
evening;
rows
of
small
boys,
washed
and
dressed
to
an
intolerable
state
of
discomfort;
rows
of
gawky
big
boys;
snowbanks
of
girls
and
young
ladies
clad
in
lawn
and
muslin
and
conspicuously
conscious
of
their
bare
arms,
their
grandmothers’
ancient
trinkets,
their
bits
of
pink
and
blue
ribbon
and
the
flowers
in
their
hair.
All
the
rest
of
the
house
was
filled
with
non-participating
scholars.
The
exercises
began.
A
very
little
boy
stood
up
and
sheepishly
recited,
“You’d
scarce
expect
one
of
my
age
to
speak
in
public
on
the
stage,”
etc.—accompanying
himself
with
the
painfully
exact
and
spasmodic
gestures
which
a
machine
might
have
used—supposing
the
machine
to
be
a
trifle
out
of
order.
But
he
got
through
safely,
though
cruelly
scared,
and
got
a
fine
round
of
applause
when
he
made
his
manufactured
bow
and
retired.
A
little
shamefaced
girl
lisped,
“Mary
had
a
little
lamb,”
etc.,
performed
a
compassion-inspiring
curtsy,
got
her
meed
of
applause,
and
sat
down
flushed
and
happy.
Tom
Sawyer
stepped
forward
with
conceited
confidence
and
soared
into
the
unquenchable
and
indestructible
“Give
me
liberty
or
give
me
death”
speech,
with
fine
fury
and
frantic
gesticulation,
and
broke
down
in
the
middle
of
it.
A
ghastly
stage-fright
seized
him,
his
legs
quaked
under
him
and
he
was
like
to
choke.
True,
he
had
the
manifest
sympathy
of
the
house
but
he
had
the
house’s
silence,
too,
which
was
even
worse
than
its
sympathy.
The
master
frowned,
and
this
completed
the
disaster.
Tom
struggled
awhile
and
then
retired,
utterly
defeated.
There
was
a
weak
attempt
at
applause,
but
it
died
early.
“The
Boy
Stood
on
the
Burning
Deck”
followed;
also
“The
Assyrian
Came
Down,”
and
other
declamatory
gems.
Then
there
were
reading
exercises,
and
a
spelling
fight.
The
meagre
Latin
class
recited
with
honor.
The
prime
feature
of
the
evening
was
in
order,
now—original
“compositions”
by
the
young
ladies.
Each
in
her
turn
stepped
forward
to
the
edge
of
the
platform,
cleared
her
throat,
held
up
her
manuscript
(tied
with
dainty
ribbon),
and
proceeded
to
read,
with
labored
attention
to
“expression”
and
punctuation.
The
themes
were
the
same
that
had
been
illuminated
upon
similar
occasions
by
their
mothers
before
them,
their
grandmothers,
and
doubtless
all
their
ancestors
in
the
female
line
clear
back
to
the
Crusades.
“Friendship”
was
one;
“Memories
of
Other
Days”;
“Religion
in
History”;
“Dream
Land”;
“The
Advantages
of
Culture”;
“Forms
of
Political
Government
Compared
and
Contrasted”;
“Melancholy”;
“Filial
Love”;
“Heart
Longings,”
etc.,
etc.
A
prevalent
feature
in
these
compositions
was
a
nursed
and
petted
melancholy;
another
was
a
wasteful
and
opulent
gush
of
“fine
language”;
another
was
a
tendency
to
lug
in
by
the
ears
particularly
prized
words
and
phrases
until
they
were
worn
entirely
out;
and
a
peculiarity
that
conspicuously
marked
and
marred
them
was
the
inveterate
and
intolerable
sermon
that
wagged
its
crippled
tail
at
the
end
of
each
and
every
one
of
them.
No
matter
what
the
subject
might
be,
a
brainracking
effort
was
made
to
squirm
it
into
some
aspect
or
other
that
the
moral
and
religious
mind
could
contemplate
with
edification.
The
glaring
insincerity
of
these
sermons
was
not
sufficient
to
compass
the
banishment
of
the
fashion
from
the
schools,
and
it
is
not
sufficient
today;
it
never
will
be
sufficient
while
the
world
stands,
perhaps.
There
is
no
school
in
all
our
land
where
the
young
ladies
do
not
feel
obliged
to
close
their
compositions
with
a
sermon;
and
you
will
find
that
the
sermon
of
the
most
frivolous
and
the
least
religious
girl
in
the
school
is
always
the
longest
and
the
most
relentlessly
pious.
But
enough
of
this.
Homely
truth
is
unpalatable.
Let
us
return
to
the
“Examination.”
The
first
composition
that
was
read
was
one
entitled
“Is
this,
then,
Life?”
Perhaps
the
reader
can
endure
an
extract
from
it:
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Las aventuras de Tom Sawyer — C1 Inglés | Cuentana