At least he don't ever pull off
his boots, anyway."
"The mischief he don't! Not even when he goes
to bed?"
"No."
It was always nuts for Tom Sawyer -- a mystery was.
If you'd lay out a mystery and a pie before me and
him, you wouldn't have to say take your choice; it
was a thing that would regulate itself. Because in my
nature I have always run to pie, whilst in his nature he
has always run to mystery. People are made different.
And it is the best way. Tom says to the waiter:
"What's the man's name?"
"Phillips."
"Where'd he come aboard?"
"I think he got aboard at Elexandria, up on the
Iowa line."
"What do you reckon he's a-playing?"
"I hain't any notion -- I never thought of it."
I says to myself, here's another one that runs to pie.
"Anything peculiar about him? -- the way he acts or
talks?"
"No -- nothing, except he seems so scary, and
keeps his doors locked night and day both, and when
you knock he won't let you in till he opens the door a
crack and sees who it is."
"By jimminy, it's int'resting! I'd like to get a
look at him. Say -- the next time you're going in
there, don't you reckon you could spread the door
and --"
"No, indeedy! He's always behind it. He would
block that game."
Tom studied over it, and then he says:
"Looky here. You lend me your apern and let me
take him his breakfast in the morning. I'll give you a
quarter.
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