Mark Twain - The Complete Short Stories of Mark Twain (Illustrated)

“First rate, I believe. Mrs. Pratt says so; and being right in the house, and sister to the one and aunt to t’other, of course she ought to know. She says the judge is real fond of him when he’s away; but frets when he’s around and is vexed with his ways, and not sorry to have him go again. He has been gone three weeks this time—a pleasant thing for both of them, I reckon.”

“Tom’s rather harum-scarum, but there ain’t anything bad in him, I guess.”

“Oh, no, he’s just young, that’s all. Still, twenty-three is old, in one way. A young man ought to be earning his living by that time. If Tom were doing that, or was even trying to do it, the judge would be a heap better satisfied with him. Tom’s always going to begin, but somehow he can’t seem to find just the opening he likes.”

“Well, now, it’s partly the judge’s own fault. Promising the boy his property wasn’t the way to set him to earning a fortune of his own. But what do you think—is Roweny beginning to lean any toward him, or ain’t she?”

Aunt Patsy had a secret in her bosom; she wanted to keep it there, but nature was too strong for her. She drew Aunt Betsy aside, and said in her most confidential and mysterious manner:

“Don’t you breathe a syllable to a soul—I’m going to tell you something. In my opinion Tom Driscoll’s chances were considerable better yesterday than they are to-day.”

“Patsy Cooper, what do you mean?”

“It’s so, as sure as you’re born. I wish you could ‘a’ been at breakfast and seen for yourself.”

“You don’t mean it!”

“Well, if I’m any judge, there’s a leaning—there’s a leaning, sure.”

“My land! Which one of ‘em is it?”

“I can’t say for certain, but I think it’s the youngest one—Anjy.”

Then there were hand-shakings, and congratulations, and hopes, and so on, and the old ladies parted, perfectly happy—the one in knowing something which the rest of the town didn’t, and the other in having been the sole person able to furnish that knowledge.

The visitor who had called to see the twins was the Rev. Mr. Hotchkiss, pastor of the Baptist church. At the reception Angelo had told him he had lately experienced a change in his religious views, and was now desirous of becoming a Baptist, and would immediately join Mr. Hotchkiss’s church. There was no time to say more, and the brief talk ended at that point. The minister was much gratified, and had dropped in for a moment now, to invite the twins to attend his Bible class at eight that evening. Angelo accepted, and was expecting Luigi to decline, but he did not, because he knew that the Bible class and the Freethinkers met in the same room, and he wanted to treat his brother to the embarrassment of being caught in free-thinking company.

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(A long and vigorous quarrel follows, between the twins. And there is plenty to quarrel about, for Angelo was always seeking truth, and this obliged him to change and improve his religion with frequency, which wearied Luigi, and annoyed him too; for he had to be present at each new enlistment—which placed him in the false position of seeming to indorse and approve his brother’s fickleness; moreover, he had to go to Angelo’s prohibition meetings, and he hated them. On the other hand, when it was his week to command the legs he gave Angelo just cause of complaint, for he took him to circuses and horse-races and fandangoes, exposing him to all sorts of censure and criticism; and he drank, too; and whatever he drank went to Angelo’s head instead of his own and made him act disgracefully. When the evening was come, the two attended the Free-thinkers’ meeting, where Angelo was sad and silent; then came the Bible class and looked upon him coldly, finding him in such company. Then they went to Wilson’s house and Chapter XI of Pudd’nhead Wilson follows, which tells of the girl seen in Tom Driscoll’s room; and closes with the kicking of Tom by Luigi at the anti-temperance mass-meeting of the Sons of Liberty; with the addition of some account of Roxy’s adventures as a chamber-maid on a Mississippi boat. Her exchange of the children had been flippantly and farcically described in an earlier chapter.)

Next morning all the town was a-buzz with great news; Pudd’nhead Wilson had a law case! The public astonishment was so great and the public curiosity so intense, that when the justice of the peace opened his court, the place was packed with people and even the windows were full. Everybody was flushed and perspiring; the summer heat was almost unendurable.

Tom Driscoll had brought a charge of assault and battery against the twins. Robert Allen was retained by Driscoll, David Wilson by the defense. Tom, his native cheerfulness unannihilated by his back-breaking and bone-bruising passage across the massed heads of the Sons of Liberty the previous night, laughed his little customary laugh, and said to Wilson:

“I’ve kept my promise, you see; I’m throwing my business your way. Sooner than I was expecting, too.”

“It’s very good of you—particularly if you mean to keep it up.”

“Well, I can’t tell about that yet. But we’ll see. If I find you deserve it I’ll take you under my protection and make your fame and fortune for you.”

“I’ll try to deserve it, Tom.”

A jury was sworn in; then Mr. Allen said:

“We will detain your honor but a moment with this case. It is not one where any doubt of the fact of the assault can enter in. These gentlemen—the accused—kicked my client at the Market Hall last night; they kicked him with violence; with extraordinary violence; with even unprecedented violence, I may say; insomuch that he was lifted entirely off his feet and discharged into the midst of the audience. We can prove this by four hundred witnesses—we shall call but three. Mr. Harkness will take the stand.”

Mr. Harkness, being sworn, testified that he was chairman upon the occasion mentioned; that he was close at hand and saw the defendants in this action kick the plaintiff into the air and saw him descend among the audience.

“Take the witness,” said Allen.

“Mr. Harkness,” said Wilson, “you say you saw these gentlemen, my clients, kick the plaintiff. Are you sure—and please remember that you are on oath—are you perfectly sure that you saw both of them kick him, or only one? Now be careful.”

A bewildered look began to spread itself over the witness’s face. He hesitated, stammered, but got out nothing. His eyes wandered to the twins and fixed themselves there with a vacant gaze.

“Please answer, Mr. Harkness, you are keeping the court waiting. It is a very simple question.”

Counsel for the prosecution broke in with impatience:

“Your honor, the question is an irrelevant triviality. Necessarily, they both kicked him, for they have but the one pair of legs, and both are responsible for them.”

Wilson said, sarcastically:

“Will your honor permit this new witness to be sworn? He seems to possess knowledge which can be of the utmost value just at this moment—knowledge which would at once dispose of what every one must see is a very difficult question in this case. Brother Allen, will you take the stand?”

“Go on with your case!” said Allen, petulantly. The audience laughed, and got a warning from the court.

“Now, Mr. Harkness,” said Wilson, insinuatingly, “we shall have to insist upon an answer to that question.”

“I—er—well, of course, I do not absolutely know, but in my opinion—”

“Never mind your opinion, sir—answer the question.”

“I—why, I can’t answer it.”

“That will do, Mr. Harkness. Stand down.”