by Mark Twain
CHAPTER XII
ONE of the reasons why Tom's mind had drifted away from its secrettroubles was, that it had found a new and weighty matter to interestitself about. Becky Thatcher had stopped coming to school. Tom hadstruggled with his pride a few days, and tried to "whistle her down thewind," but failed. He began to find himself hanging around her father'shouse, nights, and feeling very miserable. She was ill. What if sheshould die! There was distraction in the thought. He no longer took aninterest in war, nor even in piracy. The charm of life was gone; therewas nothing but dreariness left. He put his hoop away, and his bat;there was no joy in them any more. His aunt was concerned. She began totry all manner of remedies on him. She was one of those people who areinfatuated with patent medicines and all new-fangled methods ofproducing health or mending it. She was an inveterate experimenter inthese things. When something fresh in this line came out she was in afever, right away, to try it; not on herself, for she was never ailing,but on anybody else that came handy. She was a subscriber for all the"Health" periodicals and phrenological frauds; and the solemn ignorancethey were inflated with was breath to her nostrils. All the "rot" theycontained about ventilation, and how to go to bed, and how to get up,and what to eat, and what to drink, and how much exercise to take, andwhat frame of mind to keep one's self in, and what sort of clothing towear, was all gospel to her, and she never observed that herhealth-journals of the current month customarily upset everything theyhad recommended the month before. She was as simple-hearted and honestas the day was long, and so she was an easy victim. She gatheredtogether her quack periodicals and her quack medicines, and thus armedwith death, went about on her pale horse, metaphorically speaking, with"hell following after." But she never suspected that she was not anangel of healing and the balm of Gilead in disguise, to the sufferingneighbors.
The water treatment was new, now, and Tom's low condition was awindfall to her. She had him out at daylight every morning, stood himup in the woodshed and drowned him with a deluge of cold water; thenshe scrubbed him down with a towel like a file, and so brought him to;then she rolled him up in a wet sheet and put him away under blanketstill she sweated his soul clean and "the yellow stains of it camethrough his pores"--as Tom said.
Yet notwithstanding all this, the boy grew more and more melancholyand pale and dejected. She added hot baths, sitz baths, shower baths,and plunges. The boy remained as dismal as a hearse. She began toassist the water with a slim oatmeal diet and blister-plasters. Shecalculated his capacity as she would a jug's, and filled him up everyday with quack cure-alls.
Tom had become indifferent to persecution by this time. This phasefilled the old lady's heart with consternation. This indifference mustbe broken up at any cost. Now she heard of Pain-killer for the firsttime. She ordered a lot at once. She tasted it and was filled withgratitude. It was simply fire in a liquid form. She dropped the watertreatment and everything else, and pinned her faith to Pain-killer. Shegave Tom a teaspoonful and watched with the deepest anxiety for theresult. Her troubles were instantly at rest, her soul at peace again;for the "indifference" was broken up. The boy could not have shown awilder, heartier interest, if she had built a fire under him.
Tom felt that it was time to wake up; this sort of life might beromantic enough, in his blighted condition, but it was getting to havetoo little sentiment and too much distracting variety about it. So hethought over various plans for relief, and finally hit pon that ofprofessing to be fond of Pain-killer. He asked for it so often that hebecame a nuisance, and his aunt ended by telling him to help himselfand quit bothering her. If it had been Sid, she would have had nomisgivings to alloy her delight; but since it was Tom, she watched thebottle clandestinely. She found that the medicine did really diminish,but it did not occur to her that the boy was mending the health of acrack in the sitting-room floor with it.
One day Tom was in the act of dosing the crack when his aunt's yellowcat came along, purring, eying the teaspoon avariciously, and beggingfor a taste. Tom said:
"Don't ask for it unless you want it, Peter."
But Peter signified that he did want it.
"You better make sure."
Peter was sure.
"Now you've asked for it, and I'll give it to you, because there ain'tanything mean about me; but if you find you don't like it, you mustn'tblame anybody but your own self."
Peter was agreeable. So Tom pried his mouth open and poured down thePain-killer. Peter sprang a couple of yards in the air, and thendelivered a war-whoop and set off round and round the room, bangingagainst furniture, upsetting flower-pots, and making general havoc.Next he rose on his hind feet and pranced around, in a frenzy ofenjoyment, with his head over his shoulder and his voice proclaiminghis unappeasable happiness. Then he went tearing around the house againspreading chaos and destruction in his path. Aunt Polly entered in timeto see him throw a few double summersets, deliver a final mightyhurrah, and sail through the open window, carrying the rest of theflower-pots with him. The old lady stood petrified with astonishment,peering over her glasses; Tom lay on the floor expiring with laughter.
"Tom, what on earth ails that cat?"
"I don't know, aunt," gasped the boy.
"Why, I never see anything like it. What did make him act so?"
"Deed I don't know, Aunt Polly; cats always act so when they're havinga good time."
"They do, do they?" There was something in the tone that made Tomapprehensive.
"Yes'm. That is, I believe they do."
"You DO?"
"Yes'm."
The old lady was bending down, Tom watching, with interest emphasizedby anxiety. Too late he divined her "drift." The handle of the telltaleteaspoon was visible under the bed-valance. Aunt Polly took it, held itup. Tom winced, and dropped his eyes. Aunt Polly raised him by theusual handle--his ear--and cracked his head soundly with her thimble.
"Now, sir, what did you want to treat that poor dumb beast so, for?"
"I done it out of pity for him--because he hadn't any aunt."
"Hadn't any aunt!--you numskull. What has that got to do with it?"
"Heaps. Because if he'd had one she'd a burnt him out herself! She'd aroasted his bowels out of him 'thout any more feeling than if he was ahuman!"
Aunt Polly felt a sudden pang of remorse. This was putting the thingin a new light; what was cruelty to a cat MIGHT be cruelty to a boy,too. She began to soften; she felt sorry. Her eyes watered a little,and she put her hand on Tom's head and said gently:
"I was meaning for the best, Tom. And, Tom, it DID do you good."
Tom looked up in her face with just a perceptible twinkle peepingthrough his gravity.
"I know you was meaning for the best, aunty, and so was I with Peter.It done HIM good, too. I never see him get around so since--"
"Oh, go 'long with you, Tom, before you aggravate me again. And youtry and see if you can't be a good boy, for once, and you needn't takeany more medicine."
Tom reached school ahead of time. It was noticed that this strangething had been occurring every day latterly. And now, as usual of late,he hung about the gate of the schoolyard instead of playing with hiscomrades. He was sick, he said, and he looked it. He tried to seem tobe looking everywhere but whither he really was looking--down the road.Presently Jeff Thatcher hove in sight, and Tom's face lighted; he gazeda moment, and then turned sorrowfully away. When Jeff arrived, Tomaccosted him; and "led up" warily to opportunities for remark aboutBecky, but the giddy lad never could see the bait. Tom watched andwatched, hoping whenever a frisking frock came in sight, and hating theowner of it as soon as he saw she was not the right one. At last frocksceased to appear, and he dropped hopelessly into the dumps; he enteredthe empty schoolhouse and sat down to suffer. Then one more frockpassed in at the gate, and Tom's heart gave a great bound. The nextinstant he was out, and "going on" like an Indian; yelling, laughing,chasing boys, jumping over the fence at risk of life and limb, throwinghandsprings, standing on his head--doing all the heroic things he co
uldconceive of, and keeping a furtive eye out, all the while, to see ifBecky Thatcher was noticing. But she seemed to be unconscious of itall; she never looked. Could it be possible that she was not aware thathe was there? He carried his exploits to her immediate vicinity; camewar-whooping around, snatched a boy's cap, hurled it to the roof of theschoolhouse, broke through a group of boys, tumbling them in everydirection, and fell sprawling, himself, under Becky's nose, almostupsetting her--and she turned, with her nose in the air, and he heardher say: "Mf! some people think they're mighty smart--always showingoff!"
Tom's cheeks burned. He gathered himself up and sneaked off, crushedand crestfallen.
