Well, some of the best authorities has done it. They couldn't get the chain off, so they just cut their hand off and shoved. And a leg would be better still. But we got to let that go. There ain't necessity enough in this case; and, besides, Jim's a nigger, and wouldn't understand the reasons for it, and how it's the custom in Europe; so we'll let it go. But there's one thing he can have a rope ladder; we can tear up our sheets and make him a rope ladder easy enough. And we can send it to him in a pie; it's mostly done that way. And I've et worse pies.
Why, Tom Sawyer, how you talk, I says; Jim ain't got no use for a rope ladder.
He has got use for it. How you talk, you better say; you don't know nothing about it. He's got to have a rope ladder; they all do.
What in the nation can he do with it?
Do with it? He can hide it in his bed, can't he? That's what they all do; and he's got to, too. Huck, you don't ever seem to want to do anything that's regular; you want to be starting something fresh all the time. S'pose he don't do nothing with it? ain't it there in his bed, for a clew, after he's gone? and don't you reckon they'll want clews? Of course they will. And you wouldn't leave them any? That would be a pretty howdy-do, wouldn't it! I never heard of such a thing.
Well, I says, if it's in the regulations, and he's got to have it, all right, let him have it; because I don't wish to go back on no regulations; but there's one thing, Tom Sawyer if we go to tearing up our sheets to make Jim a rope ladder, we're going to get into trouble with Aunt Sally, just as sure as you're born. Now, the way I look at it, a hickry-bark ladder don't cost nothing, and don't waste nothing, and is just as good to load up a pie with, and hide in a straw tick, as any rag ladder you can start; and as for Jim, he ain't had no experience, and so he don't care what kind of a
Oh, shucks, Huck Finn, if I was as ignorant as you I'd keep still that's what I'D do. Who ever heard of a state prisoner escaping by a hickry-bark ladder? Why, it's perfectly ridiculous.
Well, all right, Tom, fix it your own way; but if you'll take my advice, you'll let me borrow a sheet off of the clothesline.
He said that would do. And that gave him another idea, and he says:
Borrow a shirt, too.
What do we want of a shirt, Tom?
Want it for Jim to keep a journal on.
Journal your granny Jim can't write.
S'pose he can't write he can make marks on the shirt, can't he, if we make him a pen out of an old pewter spoon or a piece of an old iron barrel-hoop?
Why, Tom, we can pull a feather out of a goose and make him a better one; and quicker, too.
Prisoners don't have geese running around the donjon-keep to pull pens out of, you muggins. They always make their pens out of the hardest, toughest, troublesomest piece of old brass candlestick or something like that they can get their hands on; and it takes them weeks and weeks and months and months to file it out, too, because they've got to do it by rubbing it on the wall. They wouldn't use a goose-quill if they had it. It ain't regular.
Well, then, what'll we make him the ink out of?
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