[This story is an incident in The Adventures of Tom Sawyer, by Mark Twain.
Tom has been troublesome at home; moreover, after playing and fighting
with the other boy he had came home late at night. His aunt saw the state of
his clothes and decided to turn it Saturday holiday into a day of hard labour.]
I
Saturday morning came, and all the summer world was bright and fresh and
full of life. There was a song in every heart and cheerfulness in every face. The
hill beyond the village was covered with summer green and it lay just far to
seem enough a wonderland of joy-dreamy, restful, and inviting.
Tom appeared on the pavement with a bucket of whitewash and a
long-handled brush. He surveyed the fence, and at the uninspiring sight all
gladness left him, and a deep sadness settled down on his spirit. Thirty yards of
broad fence nine feet high. Life to him, seemed hollow, and existence a burden.
Sighing, he dipped his brush and passed it along the topmost plank, repeated the
action, did it again, compared the insignificant bit of whitewashed space with
the far-reaching continent of unwhitewashed fence, and sat down on a tree-box,
discouraged. He began to think of the fun he had planned for this day, and his
sorrows multiplied. Soon the free boys would come tripping along on all sports
of interesting adventure, and they would ridicule him for having to work. The
very thought of it burnt him like fire. He got out his worldly wealth and examined
it bits of toys, marbles, all worthless things. They were enough to buy an ex-
change of work, may be, not enough to buy half an hour of pure freedom. So he
put them back into his pocket and gave up the idea of trying to buy the toys. At
this dark and hopeless moment an inspiration burst on him nothing less than a
great, magnificent idea.
II
He took up his brush and calmly resumed work. Ben Rogers came into view
presently –the very boy of all boys whose ridicule he had been dreading. Ben
was eating an apple, and seemed to be in high spirits. Tom went on dipping the
brush into the bucket and whitewashing, and paid no attention to Ben. Ben con-
templated him for a moment and then said, “Hi-yi! You are in trouble, aren’t
you?”
No answer! Tom surveyed his last touch with the eye of an artist, gave his
brush another gentle sweep, and surveyed the result as before. Ben went up and
stood by the side of Tom. Tom’s mouth watered for the apple but he stuck to his
work.
Ben said, “Hello, you’ve got to work, hey?”
Tom turned round suddenly and said, “Why, it’s you, Ben? I wasn’t
noticing.”
“I am going swimming, Tom,” said Ben. “Don’t you wish you could? But of
course you prefer to work”.
“Why, isn’t that work?”
Tom resumed his whitewashing and answered carelessly, “Well, may
be it is and may it isn’t. All I know is, it suits Tom Sawyer.”
Now, you don’t mean to say, Tom, that you like it
The brush continued to move. “Like it? Said Tom. “Well, I don’t see why I
ought not to like it.
Does a boy get a chance to whitewash a fence every day?”
III
That put the thing in a new light. Ben stopped eating his apple. Tom swept
his brush back and forth softly like an artist-stepped back to note the effect again,
while Ben watched every movement and got more and more absorbed. Presently
he said, “Tom, let me whitewash a little.”
Tom considered, and was about to consent; but he changed his mind. “No-
no-I suppose it would hardly do, Ben,” he said. “You see, Aunt Polly is awfully
particular about this fence; it has got to be very carefully; I supposed there isn’t
one boy in a thousand, may be two thousand, that can do the right way.”
“No- is that so? Oh come now –lemme* just try-Only just a little-I’d let you
if you were me. Tom.”
“Ben, I would like to, honestly; but would Aunt Poly like it? Well, Jim
wanted to do it, but she wouldn’t let him; she wanted to do it, and she wouldn’t
let Sid. You see this is the front fence and Aunt Poly is awfully particular about
it. Now don’t you see how I’m caught? If you were to try whitewashing this
fence and anything was to happen to it....”
“Oh! Come, I’ll be just as careful. Now lemme try. I’ll give you half my
apple.”
“Well, here, take this.... No, sorry, I can’t let you. I am afraid.......”
IV
“I’ll give you all of it.”
Tom gave up the brush, pretending to do so half-heartedly. And while Ben
worked and sweated in the sun, the retired artist sat on a barrel swinging his
legs, eating his apple, and lying plots to take in other boys.
Boys came along every little while; that came to laugh, but remained to
whitewash. By the time Ben was tired out, Tom had sold the next chance to Billy
Fisher for a kit in good repair. And when he was out, Johny bought the next time
chance for a dead rat and a string to swing it with, and so on and so on, hour after
hour. And when the middle of the afternoon came, Tom was just rolling in wealth.
He had, in addition to the things mentioned, twelve marbles, a piece of blue
bottle glass to look through, a key that wouldn’t unlock anything, a piece of
chalk, a tin soldier, six fire-crackers, a kitten with only one eye, a dog-collar-but
no dog-the handle of a knife, and a number of other things of the kind. While
others bore his burdens for him, he had a nice, good, idle time all the while-
plenty of company-and the fence had three coats of whitewash on it. It was just
magnificent! If he had not run out of whitewash he would have ruined every bit
in the village.
Tom said to himself that it was not such a hollow world after all. He had
discovered a great law of human action without knowing it –namely, that in
order to make a man or boy desire a thing it is only necessary to make the thing
difficult to obtain. The boy contemplated with pleasure the possessions that has
come into his hands, and then got up and walked home to report.
“It’s all done, Aunt, the whole fence,” he said to his aunt.
“Tom, I hate your lying so,” said Aunt Polly and marched out to see for
herself.
“Oh, Tom,” she said in surprise when she saw the fence, “you can work
when you want to, only you hardly ever want to,” She took him home and gave
him the best apple she had, and allowed him to go and play.
No comments:
Post a Comment