“Hi-_yi. You’re_ up a stump, ain’t you!”
No answer. Tom surveyed his last touch with the eye of an artist, then
he gave his brush another gentle sweep and surveyed the result, as
before. Ben ranged up alongside of him. Tom’s mouth watered for the
apple, but he stuck to his work. Ben said—
“Hello, old chap, you got to work, hey?”
Tom wheeled suddenly and said:
“Why, it’s you Ben! I warn’t noticing.”
“Say—_I’m_ going in a swimming, _I_ am. Don’t you wish you could? But of
course you’d ruther _work_—wouldn’t you? Course you would!”
Tom contemplated the boy a bit, and said:
“What do you call work?”
“Why, ain’t _that_ work?”
Tom resumed his whitewashing, and answered carelessly:
“Well, maybe it is, and maybe it ain’t. All I know, is, it suits Tom
Sawyer.”
“Oh, come, now, you don’t mean to let on that you _like_ it?”
The brush continued to move.
“Like it? Well, I don’t see why I oughtn’t to like it. Does a boy get a
chance to whitewash a fence every day?”
That put the thing in a new light. Ben stopped nibbling his apple. Tom
swept his brush daintily—added a touch here and there—criticised the
effect again—Ben watching every move and getting more and more
interested, more and more absorbed. Presently he said:
“Say, Tom, let _me_ whitewash a little.”
Tom considered, was about to consent; but he altered his mind:
“No—no—I reckon it wouldn’t hardly do, Ben. You see, Aunt Polly’s awful
particular about this fence—right here on the street, you know—but if it
was the back fence I wouldn’t mind and _she_ wouldn’t. Yes, she’s awful
particular about this fence; it’s got to be done very careful; I reckon
there ain’t one boy in a thousand, maybe two thousand, that can do the
way it’s got to be done.”
“No—is that so? Oh come, now—lemme just try. Only just a little—I’d let
_you_, if you was me, Tom.”
“Ben, I’d like to, honest injun; but Aunt Polly—well, Jim wanted to do
it, but she wouldn’t let him. Sid wanted to do it, and she wouldn’t let
Sid. Now don’t you see how I’m fixed? If you was to tackle this fence
and anything was to happen to it——”
“Oh, shucks, I’ll be just as careful. Now lemme try. Say—I’ll give you
the core of my apple.”
“Well, here—— No, Ben, now don’t. I’m afeard——”
“I’ll give you _all_ of it!”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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