“TOM!”
No answer.
“TOM!”
No answer.
“What’s happened with that boy, I wonder? You TOM!’
No answer.
Aunt Polly pulled her spectacles down and looked over them about the room; then she put them up and looked out under them. She even bent down, poked under the bed with the broom[1], and found nothing but the cat.
“Y-o-u-u TOM!”
There was a slight noise behind her and she turned just in time to seize a boy.
“There! What have you been doing in the pantry?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing! Look at your hands. And look at your mouth. What IS it?”
“I don’t know, aunt.”
“Well, I know. It’s jam—that’s what it is. I’ve told you forty times not to touch it. Where’s my switch?”
“Wow! Look behind you, aunt!”
The old woman turned round, and the boy fled on the instant—he climbed up the high fence, and disappeared over it.
His aunt Polly stood surprised a moment, and then laughed.
“I can never learn anything! He’s played the same trick enough for me to remember it[2]! You can’t learn an old dog new tricks. I’m sure he won’t go to school this afternoon, and I’ll just have to make him work tomorrow, to punish him. It’s hard to make him work on Saturdays, when all the boys are having a holiday. But he hates work more than he hates anything else, so I’ve GOT to find some job for him.”
She was right. Tom didn’t go to school, and he had a very good time.
While Tom was eating his dinner later, and stealing sugar as opportunity offered, Aunt Polly asked him questions—for she wanted to catch him lying.
Said she:
“Tom, it was warm in school, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, mam.”
“Powerful warm, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, mam.”
“Didn’t you want to go in a-swimming, Tom?”
Tom searched Aunt Polly’s face, but it told him nothing. So he said:
“No, ma—well, not very much.”
The old lady reached out her hand and felt Tom’s shirt, and said:
“But you ain’t too warm now, though.”
Tom knew what was coming, now. So he said:
“Some of us pumped water on our heads—mine’s still damp. See?”
Aunt Polly got upset that she had overlooked that bit of circumstantial evidence. Then she had a new inspiration:
“Tom, you didn’t have to undo your shirt collar where I sewed it, to pump on your head, did you? Unbutton your jacket!”
Tom opened his jacket. His shirt collar was securely sewed.
“Bother! Well, I was sure you skipped school and went swimming. But I forgive ye, Tom. This time.”
But then Sid, Tom’s younger brother, said:
“You sewed his collar with white thread, but now it’s black.”
“Why, I did sew it with white! Tom!”
But Tom did not wait for the rest. As he went out at the door he said:
“Siddy, I’ll lick you for that[3].”
In a safe place Tom examined two large needles that he had stick into the lapels of his jacket. They both had thread attached to them—one needle had white thread and the other black. He said:
“She’d never noticed if it hadn’t been for Sid. Sometimes she sews it with white, and sometimes she sews it with black. I wish she picked one or the other—I can’t keep track of them!”
Tom was not the model boy of the village. But Sid was—and Tom hated him sometimes.
Within two minutes, or even less, he had forgotten all his troubles because he found a new interesting activity—whistling. He had learned to whistle a couple of days ago and now he decided to practise it.
The summer evenings were long so he had a lot of time ahead.
Then he saw a stranger boy a little larger than himself. Meeting a new-comer of any age of either sex was an important in the poor little village of St. Petersburg. This boy was well dressed—on a week-day. He even had shoes on—and it was only Friday. You could see that he was from the city. The more Tom stared at the stranger, the higher he turned up his nose and the shabbier his own outfit seemed to him. Neither of the boys spoke. If one moved, the other moved—but only to the side; so they were moving in a circle; keeping face to face and eye to eye[4] all the time. Finally Tom said:
“I can lick you!”
“I’d like to see you try it.”
“Well, I can do it.”
“No you can’t, either.”
“Yes I can.”
“No you can’t.”
“I can.”
“You can’t.”
“Can!”
“Can’t!”
An uncomfortable pause. Then Tom said:
“What’s your name?”
“‘Tisn’t any of your business, maybe.”
“Well I’ll make it my business.”
“Well why don’t you?”
“If you say much, I will.”
“Much—much—much. There now.”
“Oh, you think you’re mighty smart, don’t you? I could lick you with one hand tied behind me, if I wanted to.”
“Well why don’t you do it? You say you can do it.”
“Well I will, if you fool with me.”
“Oh yes—I’ve seen whole families in the same fix.”
“Smarty! You think you’re some, now, don’t you? Oh, what a hat!”
“You can lump that hat if you don’t like it. I dare you to knock it off—and anybody that’ll take a dare will suck eggs.”
“You’re a liar!”
“You’re another.”
“You’re a fighting liar.”
“Aw—take a walk!”
“Say—if you give me much more of your sass I’ll take and bounce a rock off’n your head.”
“Oh, of course you will.”
“Well I will.”
“Well why don’t you do it then? What do you keep saying you will for? Why don’t you do it? It’s because you’re afraid.”
“I ain’t afraid.”
“You are.”
“I ain’t.”
“You are.”
Another pause. Presently they were shoulder to shoulder. Tom said:
“Get away from here!”
“Go away yourself!”
“I won’t.”
“I won’t either.”
So they stood, glowering at each other with hate. But neither could get an advantage. Tom said:
“You’re a coward and a pup. I’ll tell my big brother on you, and he can beat you with his little finger, and I’ll make him do it, too.”
“What do I care for your big brother? I’ve got a brother that’s bigger than he is—and what’s more, he can throw him over that fence, too.”
–
“That’s a lie.”
“Your saying so don’t make it so.”
Tom drew a line in the dust with his foot and said:
“I dare you to step over that, and I’ll lick you till you can’t stand up.”
The new boy stepped over promptly, and said:
“Now you said you’d do it, now let’s see you do it.”
“Don’t you crowd me now; you better look out.”
“Well, you said you’d do it—why don’t you do it?”
“For two cents I will do it.”
The new boy took two broad coppers out of his pocket and held them out. Tom struck them to the ground. In an instant both boys were rolling and tumbling in the dirt, gripped together like cats; and for the space of a minute they tugged and tore at each other’s hair and clothes, punched and scratched each other’s nose, and covered themselves with dust and glory. Presently the confusion took form, and through the fog of battle Tom appeared, seated astride the new boy, and pounding him with his fists.
The boy only struggled to free himself. He was crying—mainly from rage.
