The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn eBook

Jim put the quarter under the hair-ball, and got down and listened again.  This time he said the hair-ball was all right.  He said it would tell my whole fortune if I wanted it to.  I says, go on.  So the hair-ball talked to Jim, and Jim told it to me.  He says: 

“Yo’ ole father doan’ know yit what he’s a-gwyne to do.  Sometimes he spec he’ll go ‘way, en den agin he spec he’ll stay.  De bes’ way is to res’ easy en let de ole man take his own way.  Dey’s two angels hoverin’ roun’ ’bout him.  One uv ’em is white en shiny, en t’other one is black.  De white one gits him to go right a little while, den de black one sail in en bust it all up.  A body can’t tell yit which one gwyne to fetch him at de las’.  But you is all right.  You gwyne to have considable trouble in yo’ life, en considable joy.  Sometimes you gwyne to git hurt, en sometimes you gwyne to git sick; but every time you’s gwyne to git well agin.  Dey’s two gals flyin’ ‘bout you in yo’ life.  One uv ’em’s light en t’other one is dark.  One is rich en t’other is po’.  You’s gwyne to marry de po’ one fust en de rich one by en by.  You wants to keep ’way fum de water as much as you kin, en don’t run no resk, ’kase it’s down in de bills dat you’s gwyne to git hung.”

When I lit my candle and went up to my room that night there sat pap—­his own self!

CHAPTER V.

I had shut the door to.  Then I turned around and there he was.  I used to be scared of him all the time, he tanned me so much.  I reckoned I was scared now, too; but in a minute I see I was mistaken—­that is, after the first jolt, as you may say, when my breath sort of hitched, he being so unexpected; but right away after I see I warn’t scared of him worth bothring about.

He was most fifty, and he looked it.  His hair was long and tangled and greasy, and hung down, and you could see his eyes shining through like he was behind vines.  It was all black, no gray; so was his long, mixed-up whiskers.  There warn’t no color in his face, where his face showed; it was white; not like another man’s white, but a white to make a body sick, a white to make a body’s flesh crawl—­a tree-toad white, a fish-belly white.  As for his clothes—­just rags, that was all.  He had one ankle resting on t’other knee; the boot on that foot was busted, and two of his toes stuck through, and he worked them now and then.  His hat was laying on the floor—­an old black slouch with the top caved in, like a lid.

I stood a-looking at him; he set there a-looking at me, with his chair tilted back a little.  I set the candle down.  I noticed the window was up; so he had clumb in by the shed.  He kept a-looking me all over.  By and by he says: 

“Starchy clothes—­very.  You think you’re a good deal of a big-bug, don’t you?”

“Maybe I am, maybe I ain’t,” I says.