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Las aventuras de Tom Sawyer
Capítulo 35, Página 1
The
reader
may
rest
satisfied
that
Tom’s
and
Huck’s
windfall
made
a
mighty
stir
in
the
poor
little
village
of
St.
Petersburg.
So
vast
a
sum,
all
in
actual
cash,
seemed
next
to
incredible.
It
was
talked
about,
gloated
over,
glorified,
until
the
reason
of
many
of
the
citizens
tottered
under
the
strain
of
the
unhealthy
excitement.
Every
“haunted”
house
in
St.
Petersburg
and
the
neighboring
villages
was
dissected,
plank
by
plank,
and
its
foundations
dug
up
and
ransacked
for
hidden
treasure—and
not
by
boys,
but
men—pretty
grave,
unromantic
men,
too,
some
of
them.
Wherever
Tom
and
Huck
appeared
they
were
courted,
admired,
stared
at.
The
boys
were
not
able
to
remember
that
their
remarks
had
possessed
weight
before;
but
now
their
sayings
were
treasured
and
repeated;
everything
they
did
seemed
somehow
to
be
regarded
as
remarkable;
they
had
evidently
lost
the
power
of
doing
and
saying
commonplace
things;
moreover,
their
past
history
was
raked
up
and
discovered
to
bear
marks
of
conspicuous
originality.
The
village
paper
published
biographical
sketches
of
the
boys.
The
Widow
Douglas
put
Huck’s
money
out
at
six
per
cent.,
and
Judge
Thatcher
did
the
same
with
Tom’s
at
Aunt
Polly’s
request.
Each
lad
had
an
income,
now,
that
was
simply
prodigious—a
dollar
for
every
weekday
in
the
year
and
half
of
the
Sundays.
It
was
just
what
the
minister
got—no,
it
was
what
he
was
promised—he
generally
couldn’t
collect
it.
A
dollar
and
a
quarter
a
week
would
board,
lodge,
and
school
a
boy
in
those
old
simple
days—and
clothe
him
and
wash
him,
too,
for
that
matter.
Judge
Thatcher
had
conceived
a
great
opinion
of
Tom.
He
said
that
no
commonplace
boy
would
ever
have
got
his
daughter
out
of
the
cave.
When
Becky
told
her
father,
in
strict
confidence,
how
Tom
had
taken
her
whipping
at
school,
the
Judge
was
visibly
moved;
and
when
she
pleaded
grace
for
the
mighty
lie
which
Tom
had
told
in
order
to
shift
that
whipping
from
her
shoulders
to
his
own,
the
Judge
said
with
a
fine
outburst
that
it
was
a
noble,
a
generous,
a
magnanimous
lie—a
lie
that
was
worthy
to
hold
up
its
head
and
march
down
through
history
breast
to
breast
with
George
Washington’s
lauded
Truth
about
the
hatchet!
Becky
thought
her
father
had
never
looked
so
tall
and
so
superb
as
when
he
walked
the
floor
and
stamped
his
foot
and
said
that.
She
went
straight
off
and
told
Tom
about
it.
Judge
Thatcher
hoped
to
see
Tom
a
great
lawyer
or
a
great
soldier
some
day.
He
said
he
meant
to
look
to
it
that
Tom
should
be
admitted
to
the
National
Military
Academy
and
afterward
trained
in
the
best
law
school
in
the
country,
in
order
that
he
might
be
ready
for
either
career
or
both.
Huck
Finn’s
wealth
and
the
fact
that
he
was
now
under
the
Widow
Douglas’
protection
introduced
him
into
society—no,
dragged
him
into
it,
hurled
him
into
it—and
his
sufferings
were
almost
more
than
he
could
bear.
The
widow’s
servants
kept
him
clean
and
neat,
combed
and
brushed,
and
they
bedded
him
nightly
in
unsympathetic
sheets
that
had
not
one
little
spot
or
stain
which
he
could
press
to
his
heart
and
know
for
a
friend.
He
had
to
eat
with
a
knife
and
fork;
he
had
to
use
napkin,
cup,
and
plate;
he
had
to
learn
his
book,
he
had
to
go
to
church;
he
had
to
talk
so
properly
that
speech
was
become
insipid
in
his
mouth;
whithersoever
he
turned,
the
bars
and
shackles
of
civilization
shut
him
in
and
bound
him
hand
and
foot.
He
bravely
bore
his
miseries
three
weeks,
and
then
one
day
turned
up
missing.
For
forty-eight
hours
the
widow
hunted
for
him
everywhere
in
great
distress.
The
public
were
profoundly
concerned;
they
searched
high
and
low,
they
dragged
the
river
for
his
body.
Early
the
third
morning
Tom
Sawyer
wisely
went
poking
among
some
old
empty
hogsheads
down
behind
the
abandoned
slaughter-house,
and
in
one
of
them
he
found
the
refugee.
Huck
had
slept
there;
he
had
just
breakfasted
upon
some
stolen
odds
and
ends
of
food,
and
was
lying
off,
now,
in
comfort,
with
his
pipe.
He
was
unkempt,
uncombed,
and
clad
in
the
same
old
ruin
of
rags
that
had
made
him
picturesque
in
the
days
when
he
was
free
and
happy.
Tom
routed
him
out,
told
him
the
trouble
he
had
been
causing,
and
urged
him
to
go
home.
Huck’s
face
lost
its
tranquil
content,
and
took
a
melancholy
cast.
He
said:
“Don’t
talk
about
it,
Tom.
I’ve
tried
it,
and
it
don’t
work;
it
don’t
work,
Tom.
It
ain’t
for
me;
I
ain’t
used
to
it.
The
widder’s
good
to
me,
and
friendly;
but
I
can’t
stand
them
ways.
She
makes
me
get
up
just
at
the
same
time
every
morning;
she
makes
me
wash,
they
comb
me
all
to
thunder;
she
won’t
let
me
sleep
in
the
woodshed;
I
got
to
wear
them
blamed
clothes
that
just
smothers
me,
Tom;
they
don’t
seem
to
any
air
git
through
’em,
somehow;
and
they’re
so
rotten
nice
that
I
can’t
set
down,
nor
lay
down,
nor
roll
around
anywher’s;
I
hain’t
slid
on
a
cellar-door
for—well,
it
’pears
to
be
years;
I
got
to
go
to
church
and
sweat
and
sweat—I
hate
them
ornery
sermons!
I
can’t
ketch
a
fly
in
there,
I
can’t
chaw.
I
got
to
wear
shoes
all
Sunday.
The
widder
eats
by
a
bell;
she
goes
to
bed
by
a
bell;
she
gits
up
by
a
bell—everything’s
so
awful
reg’lar
a
body
can’t
stand
it.”
“Well,
everybody
does
that
way,
Huck.”
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Las aventuras de Tom Sawyer — C1 Inglés | Cuentana