Приключения Тома Сойера

Chapter 30

           "Yes,burglar’stools. Thatappearstorelieveyouagooddeal. Butwhatdidgiveyouthatturn? WhatwereYOUexpectingwe’dfound?" 

           Huckwasinacloseplace—theinquiringeyewasuponhim—hewouldhavegivenanythingformaterialforaplausibleanswer—nothingsuggesteditself —theinquiringeyewasboringdeeperanddeeper—asenselessreplyoffered—therewasnotimetoweighit,soataventureheutteredit—feebly: 

           "Sunday-schoolbooks,maybe." 

           PoorHuckwastoodistressedtosmile,buttheoldmanlaughedloudandjoyously,shookupthedetailsofhisanatomyfromheadtofoot, andendedbysayingthatsuchalaughwasmoneyina-man’spocket,becauseitcutdownthedoctor’sbilllikeeverything. Thenheadded: 

           "Pooroldchap,you’rewhiteandjaded—youain’twellabit—nowonderyou’realittleflightyandoffyourbalance. Butyou’llcomeoutofit. Restandsleepwillfetchyououtallright,Ihope." 

           Huckwasirritatedtothinkhehadbeensuchagooseandbetrayedsuchasuspiciousexcitement,forhehaddroppedtheideathattheparcelbroughtfromthetavernwasthetreasure,assoonashehadheardthetalkatthewidow’sstile. Hehadonlythoughtitwasnotthetreasure,however—hehadnotknownthatitwasn’t—andsothesuggestionofacapturedbundlewastoomuchforhisself-possession. Butonthewholehefeltgladthelittleepisodehadhappened,fornowheknewbeyondallquestionthatthatbundlewasnotTHEbundle,andsohismindwasatrestandexceedinglycomfortable. 

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