B̲a̲n̲k̲ A̲c̲c̲o̲u̲n̲t̲ W̲a̲r̲n̲i̲n̲g̲ 🚨 🏦

𝖳𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖢𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝖤𝗇𝖽𝖺𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗋 𝖸𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖡𝖺𝗇𝗄 𝖠𝖼𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗇𝗍. 𝖯𝗋𝗈𝗍𝖾𝖼𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗌𝖾𝗅𝖿 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗌𝖾 𝟥 𝗌𝗂𝗆𝗉𝗅𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗉𝗌 [Main logotype Expert Modern Advice](   Dear Reader, The U.S. government is gearing up to change how it controls the mоnеу in your bаnk account. This change may seem innocent at first... But when you look closer, the consequences can be frightening... [See what this disturbing change is hеrе.]( By and by, when we got up, we turned over the truck the gang had stole of the wreck, and found boots, and blankets, and clothes, and sorts of other things, and a lot of books, and a spyglass, and three boxes of seegars. We hadn’t ever been this rich before in neither of our lives. The seegars was prime. We laid the afternoon in the woods talking, and me reading the books, and having a general good time. I told Jim about what happened inside the wreck and at the ferryboat, and I said these kinds of things was adventures; but he said he didn’t want no more adventures. He said that when I went in the texas and he crawled back to on the raft and found her gone he nearly died, because he judged it was up with him anyway it could be fixed; for if he didn’t saved he would drownded; and if he did saved, whoever saved him would send him back so as to the reward, and then Miss Watson would sell him South, sure. Well, he was right; he was most always right; he had an uncommon level head for a nigger. I read considerable to Jim about kings and dukes and earls and such, and how gaudy they dressed, and how much style they put on, and ced each other your majesty, and your grace, and your lordship, and so on, ‘stead of mister; and Jim’s eyes bugged out, and he was interested. He says: “I didn’ k dey was so many un um. I hain’t hearn ‘bout none un um, skasely, but ole King Sollermun, onless you counts dem kings dat’s in a pack er k’yards. How much do a king git?” “?” I says; “why, they a thousand s a month if they want it; they can have just as much as they want; everything belongs to them.” “Ain’ dat gay? En what dey got to do, Huck?” “They don’t do nothing! Why, how you talk! They just set around.” “No; is dat so?” “Of course it is. They just set around—except, maybe, when t’s a war; then they go to the war. But other times they just lazy around; or go hawking—just hawking and sp—Sh!—d’ you hear a noise?” We skipped out and looked; but it warn’t nothing but the flutter of a steamboat’s wheel away down, coming around the point; so we come back. “Yes,” says I, “and other times, when things is dull, they fuss with the parlyment; and if everybody don’t go just so he whacks their heads . But mostly they hang round the harem.” “Roun’ de which?” “Harem.” “What’s de harem?” “The place w he keeps his wives. Don’t you k about the harem? Solomon had one; he had about a wives.” “Why, yes, dat’s so; I—I’d done forgot it. A harem’s a bo’d’n-house, I reck’n. Mos’ likely dey has rackety times in de nussery. En I reck’n de wives quarrels considable; en dat ‘crease de racket. Yit dey say Sollermun de wises’ man dat ever live’. I doan’ take no stock in dat. Bekase why: would a wise man want to live in de mids’ er sich a blim-blammin’ de time? No—‘deed he wouldn’t. A wise man ‘ud take en buil’ a biler-factry; en den he could shet down de biler-factry when he want to res’.” “Well, but he WAS the wisest man, anyway; because the widow she told me so, her own self.” “I doan k’yer what de widder say, he warn’t no wise man nuther. He had some er de dad-fetchedes’ ways I ever see. Does you k ‘bout dat chile dat he ‘uz gwyne to chop in two?” “Yes, the widow told me about it.” “Well, den! Warn’ dat de beatenes’ notion in de worl’? You jes’ take en look at it a minute. Dah’s de stump, dah—dat’s one er de women; heah’s you—dat’s de yuther one; I’s Sollermun; en dish yer bill’s de chile. Bofe un you it. What does I do? Does I shin aroun’ mongs’ de neighbors en fine out which un you de bill do b’long to, en han’ it over to de right one, safe en soun’, de way dat anybody dat had any gumption would? No; I take en whack de bill in two, en give half un it to you, en de yuther half to de yuther woman. Dat’s de way Sollermun was gwyne to do wid de chile. I want to ast you: what’s de use er dat half a bill?—can’t noth’n wid it. En what use is a half a chile? I wouldn’ give a dern for a un um.” “But hang it, Jim, you’ve clean missed the point—blame it, you’ve missed it a thousand mile.” “Who? Me? Go ‘long. Doan’ talk to me ‘bout yo’ pints. I reck’n I ks sense when I sees it; en dey ain’ no sense in sich doin’s as dat. De ‘spute warn’t ‘bout a half a chile, de ‘spute was ‘bout a whole chile; en de man dat think he kin settle a ‘spute ‘bout a whole chile wid a half a chile doan’ k enough to come in out’n de rain. Doan’ talk to me ‘bout Sollermun, Huck, I ks him by de back.” “But I tell you you don’t the point.” “Blame de point! I reck’n I ks what I ks. En mine you, de real pint is down furder—it’s down deeper. It lays in de way Sollermun was raised. You take a man dat’s got on’y one or two chillen; is dat man gwyne to be waseful o’ chillen? No, he ain’t; he can’t ‘ford it. He k how to value ‘em. But you take a man dat’s got ‘bout five chillen runnin’ roun’ de house, en it’s diffunt. He as chop a chile in two as a cat. Dey’s plenty mo’. A chile er two, mo’ er less, warn’t no consekens to Sollermun, dad fatch him!” I see such a nigger. If he got a notion in his head once, t warn’t no ting it out again. He was the most down on Solomon of any nigger I ever see. So I went to talking about other kings, and let Solomon slide. I told about Louis Sixteenth that got his head cut in France long time ago; and about his little boy the dolphin, that would a been a king, but they took and shut him up in jail, and some say he died t. “Po’ little chap.” “But some says he got out and got away, and come to America.” We judged that three nights more would fetch us to Cairo, at the bottom of Illinois, w the Ohio River comes in, and that was what we was after. We would sell the raft and on a steamboat and go way up the Ohio amongst the States, and then be out of trouble. Well, the second night a fog begun to come on, and we made for a towhead to tie to, for it wouldn’t do to try to run in a fog; but when I paddled ahead in the canoe, with the line to make , t warn’t anything but little saplings to tie to. I passed the line around one of them right on the edge of the cut , but t was a stiff current, and the raft come booming down so lively she tore it out by the roots and away she went. I see the fog closing down, and it made me so sick and scared I couldn’t budge for most a half a minute it seemed to me—and then t warn’t no raft in sight; you couldn’t see twenty yards. I jumped into the canoe and run back to the stern, and grabbed the paddle and set her back a stroke. But she didn’t come. I was in such a hurry I hadn’t untied her. I got up and tried to untie her, but I was so excited my hands shook so I couldn’t hardly do anything with them. As as I got started I took out after the raft, hot and heavy, right down the towhead. That was right as far as it went, but the towhead warn’t sixty yards long, and the minute I flew by the foot of it I shot out into the solid white fog, and hadn’t no more idea which way I was going than a dead man. Thinks I, it ’t do to paddle; first I k I’ll run into the or a towhead or something; I got to set still and float, and yet it’s mighty fidy business to have to hold your hands still at such a time. I whooped and listened. Away down t somews I hears a sm whoop, and up comes my spirits. I went tearing after it, listening sharp to hear it again. The next time it come I see I warn’t heading for it, but heading away to the right of it. And the next time I was heading away to the left of it—and not gaining on it much either, for I was flying around, this way and that and t’other, but it was going straight ahead the time. I did wish the fool would think to beat a tin pan, and beat it the time, but he did, and it was the still places between the whoops that was making the trouble for me. Well, I fought along, and directly I hears the whoop behind me. I was tangled good . That was somebody else’s whoop, or else I was turned around. I throwed the paddle down. I heard the whoop again; it was behind me yet, but in a different place; it kept coming, and kept changing its place, and I kept answering, till by and by it was in front of me again, and I ked the current had swung the canoe’s head down-stream, and I was right if that was Jim and not some other raftsman hollering. I couldn’t tell nothing about voices in a fog, for nothing don’t look natural nor sound natural in a fog. The whooping went on, and in about a minute I come a-booming down on a cut with smoky ghosts of big trees on it, and the current throwed me to the left and shot by, amongst a lot of snags that fairly roared, the current was tearing by them so swift. In another second or two it was solid white and still again. I set perfectly still then, listening to my heart thump, and I reckon I didn’t draw a breath while it thumped a hundred. I just give up then. I ked what the matter was. That cut was an island, and Jim had gone down t’other side of it. It warn’t no towhead that you could float by in ten minutes. It had the big timber of a regular island; it might be five or six miles long and more than half a mile wide. I kept quiet, with my ears cocked, about fifteen minutes, I reckon. I was floating along, of course, four or five miles an hour; but you don’t ever think of that. No, you feel like you are laying dead still on the water; and if a little glimpse of a snag slips by you don’t think to yourself how you’re going, but you catch your breath and think, my! how that snag’s tearing along. If you think it ain’t dismal and lonesome out in a fog that way by yourself in the night, you try it once—you’ll see. Next, for about a half an hour, I whoops and then; at last I hears the answer a long ways , and tries to follow it, but I couldn’t do it, and directly I judged I’d got into a nest of towheads, for I had little dim glimpses of them on both sides of me—sometimes just a narrow channel between, and some that I couldn’t see I ked was t because I’d hear the wash of the current against the old dead brush and trash that hung over the s. Well, I warn’t long loosing the whoops down amongst the towheads; and I tried to chase them a little while, anyway, because it was worse than chasing a Jacko’-lantern. You ked a sound dodge around so, and swap places so quick and so much. I had to claw away from the pretty lively four or five times, to keep from knocking the islands out of the river; and so I judged the raft must be butting into the every and then, or else it would further ahead and clear out of hearing—it was floating a little er than what I was. Well, I seemed to be in the river again by and by, but I couldn’t hear no sign of a whoop s. I reckoned Jim had fetched up on a snag, maybe, and it was up with him. I was good and tired, so I laid down in the canoe and said I wouldn’t bother no more. I didn’t want to go to sleep, of course; but I was so sleepy I couldn’t help it; so I thought I would take jest one little cat-nap. But I reckon it was more than a cat-nap, for when I waked up the stars was shining bright, the fog was gone, and I was spinning down a big bend stern first. First I didn’t k w I was; I thought I was dreaming; and when things began to come back to me they seemed to come up dim out of last week. It was a monstrous big river , with the test and the thickest kind of timber on both s; just a solid w, as well as I could see by the stars. I looked away down-stream, and seen a black speck on the water. I took after it; but when I got to it it warn’t nothing but a Good luck and God bless! [𝘴𝘪𝘨𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘧 Martin D. Weiss] couple of sawlogs made toher. Then I see another speck, and chased that; then another, and this time I was right. It was the raft. When I got to it Jim was setting t with his head down between his knees, asleep, with his right arm hanging over the steering-oar. The other oar was smashed , and the raft was littered up with s and branches and dirt. So she’d had a rough time. I made and laid down under Jim’s nose on the raft, and began to gap, and stretch my fists out against Jim, and says: “Hello, Jim, have I been asleep? Why didn’t you stir me up?” “Goodness gracious, is dat you, Huck? En you ain’ dead—you ain’ drownded—you’s back agin? It’s too good for true, honey, it’s too good for true. Lemme look at you chile, lemme feel o’ you. No, you ain’ dead! you’s back agin, ‘live en soun’, jis de same ole Huck—de same ole Huck, thanks to goodness!” “What’s the matter with you, Jim? You been a-drinking?” “Drinkin’? Has I ben a-drinkin’? Has I had a to be adrinkin’?” “Well, then, what makes you talk so wild?” “How does I talk wild?” “How? Why, hain’t you been talking about my coming back, and that stuff, as if I’d been gone away?” “Huck—Huck Finn, you look me in de eye; look me in de eye. hain’t you ben gone away?” “Gone away? Why, what in the nation do you mean? I hain’t been gone anyws. W would I go to?” “Well, looky , , dey’s sumf’n wrong, dey is. Is I me, or who is I? Is I heah, or whah is I? dat’s what I wants to k.” “Well, I think you’re , plain enough, but I think you’re a tangle-headed old fool, Jim.” “I is, is I? Well, you answer me dis: Didn’t you tote out de line in de canoe fer to make fas’ to de tow-head?” “No, I didn’t. What tow-head? I hain’t see no tow-head.” “You hain’t seen no towhead? Looky , didn’t de line pull loose en de raf’ go a-hummin’ down de river, en you en de canoe behine in de fog?” “What fog?” “Why, de fog!—de fog dat’s been aroun’ night. En didn’t you whoop, en didn’t I whoop, tell we got mix’ up in de islands en one un us got los’ en t’other one was jis’ as good as los’, ‘kase he didn’ k whah he wuz? En didn’t I bust up agin a lot er dem islands en have a turrible time en mos’ git drownded? ain’ dat so, — ain’t it so? You answer me dat.” “Well, this is too many for me, Jim. I hain’t seen no fog, nor no islands, nor no troubles, nor nothing. I been setting talking with you night till you went to sleep about ten minutes ago, and I reckon I done the same. You couldn’t a got drunk in that time, so of course you’ve been dreaming.” “Dad fetch it, how is I gwyne to dream dat in ten minutes?” “Well, hang it , you did dream it, because t didn’t any of it happen.” “But, Huck, it’s jis’ as plain to me as—” “It don’t make no difference how plain it is; t ain’t nothing in it. I k, because I’ve been the time.” Jim didn’t say nothing for about five minutes, but set t studying over it. Then he says: “Well, den, I reck’n I did dream it, Huck; but dog my cats ef it ain’t de powerfullest dream I ever see. En I hain’t ever had no dream b’fo’ dat’s tired me like dis one.” “Oh, well, that’s right, because a dream does tire a body like everything sometimes. But this one was a staving dream; tell me about it, Jim.” So Jim went to work and told me the whole thing right through, just as it happened, he painted it up considerable. Then he said he must start in and “’terpret” it, because it was sent for a warning. He said the first towhead stood for a man that would try to do us some good, but the current was another man that would us away from him. The whoops was warnings that would come to us every and then, and if we didn’t try hard to make out to understand them they’d just take us into bad luck, ‘stead of keeping us out of it. The lot of towheads was troubles we was going to into with quarrelsome people and kinds of mean folks, but if we minded our business and didn’t talk back and aggravate them, we would pull through and out of the fog and into the big clear river, which was the States, and wouldn’t have no more trouble. It had clouded up pretty dark just after I got on to the raft, but it was clearing up again . “Oh, well, that’s interpreted well enough as far as it goes, Jim,” I says; “but what does these things stand for?” It was the s and rubbish on the raft and the smashed oar. You could see them first- . Jim looked at the trash, and then looked at me, and back at the trash again. He had got the dream fixed so strong in his head that he couldn’t seem to shake it loose and the facts back into its place again right away. But when he did the thing straightened around he looked at me steady without ever smiling, and says: “What do dey stan’ for? I’se gwyne to tell you. When I got wore out wid work, en wid de cin’ , en went to sleep, my heart wuz mos’ broke bekase you wuz los’, en I didn’ k’yer no’ mo’ what become er me en de raf’. En when I wake up en fine you back agin, safe en soun’, de tears come, en I could a got down on my knees en kiss yo’ foot, I’s so thankful. En you wuz thinkin’ ‘bout wuz how you could make a fool uv ole Jim wid a lie. Dat truck dah is trash; en trash is what people is dat puts dirt on de head er dey fren’s en makes ‘em ashamed.” Then he got up slow and walked to the wigwam, and went in t without saying anything but that. But that was enough. It made me feel so mean I could almost kissed his foot to him to take it back. It was fifteen minutes before I could work myself up to go and humble myself to a nigger; but I done it, and I warn’t ever sorry for it afterwards, neither. I didn’t do him no more mean tricks, and I wouldn’t done that one if I’d a ked it would make him feel that way. We slept most day, and started out at night, a little ways behind a monstrous long raft that was as long going by as a procession. She had four long sweeps at each end, so we judged she carried as many as thirty men, likely. She had five big wigwams aboard, wide apart, and an camp fire in the middle, and a t flag-pole at each end. T was a power of style about her. It amounted to something being a raftsman on such a craft as that. We went drifting down into a big bend, and the night clouded up and got hot. The river was very wide, and was wed with solid timber on both sides; you couldn’t see a break in it hardly ever, or a light. We talked about Cairo, and dered whether we would k it when we got to it. I said likely we wouldn’t, because I had heard say t warn’t but about a dozen houses t, and if they didn’t happen to have them lit up, how was we going to k we was passing a town? Jim said if the two big rivers joined toher t, that would show. But I said maybe we might think we was passing the foot of an island and coming into the same old river again. That disturbed Jim—and me too. So the question was, what to do? I said, paddle ashore the first time a light showed, and tell them pap was behind, coming along with a trading-scow, and was a green hand at the business, and wanted to k how far it was to Cairo. Jim thought it was a good idea, so we took a smoke on it and waited. T warn’t nothing to do but to look out sharp for the town, and not pass it without seeing it. He said he’d be mighty sure to see it, because he’d be a man the minute he seen it, but if he missed it he’d be in a slave country again and no more show for dom. Every little while he jumps up and says: “Dah she is?” But it warn’t. It was Jack-o’-lanterns, or lightning bugs; so he set down again, and went to watching, same as before. Jim said it made him over trembly and feverish to be so close to dom. Well, I can tell you it made me over trembly and feverish, too, to hear him, because I begun to it through my head that he was most —and who was to blame for it? Why, me. I couldn’t that out of my conscience, no how nor no way. It got to troubling me so I couldn’t rest; I couldn’t stay still in one place. It hadn’t ever come to me before, what this thing was that I was doing. But it did; and it stayed with me, and scorched me more and more. I tried to make out to myself that I warn’t to blame, because I didn’t run Jim from his rightful owner; but it warn’t no use, conscience up and says, every time, “But you ked he was running for his dom, and you could a paddled ashore and told somebody.” That was so— I couldn’t around that ay. That was w it pinched. Conscience says to me, “What had poor Miss Watson done to you that you could see her nigger go right under your eyes and say one single word? What did that poor old woman do to you that you could treat her so mean? Why, she tried to learn you your book, she tried to learn you your manners, she tried to be good to you every way she ked how. That’s what she done.” I got to feeling so mean and so miserable I most wished I was dead. I fided up and down the raft, abusing myself to myself, and Jim was fiding up and down past me. We neither of us could keep still. Every time he danced around and says, “Dah’s Cairo!” it went through me like a shot, and I thought if it was Cairo I reckoned I would die of miserableness. Jim talked out loud the time while I was talking to myself. He was saying how the first thing he would do when he got to a State he would go to saving up and spend a single cent, and when he got enough he would his , which was owned on a farm close to w Miss Watson lived; and then they would both work to the two children, and if their master It most froze me to hear such talk. He wouldn’t ever dared to talk such talk in his before. Just see what a difference it made in him the minute he judged he was about . It was according to the old saying, “Give a nigger an inch and he’ll take an ell.” Thinks I, this is what comes of my not thinking. was this nigger, which I had as good as helped to run away, coming right out flat-footed and saying he would steal his children—children that belonged to a man I didn’t even k; a man that hadn’t ever done me no harm. I was sorry to hear Jim say that, it was such a lowering of him. My conscience got to stirring me up hotter than ever, until at last I says to it, “Let up on me—it ain’t too late yet—I’ll paddle ashore at the first light and tell.” I felt easy and happy and light as a feather right . my troubles was gone. I went to looking out sharp for a light, and sort of singing to myself. By and by one showed. Jim sings out: “We’s safe, Huck, we’s safe! Jump up and crack yo’ heels! Dat’s de good ole Cairo at las’, I jis ks it!” I says: “I’ll take the canoe and go and see, Jim. It mightn’t be, you k.” He jumped and got the canoe ready, and put his old coat in the bottom for me to set on, and give me the paddle; and as I shoved , he says: “Pooty I’ll be a-shout’n’ for joy, en I’ll say, it’s on o’ Huck; I’s a man, en I couldn’t ever ben ef it hadn’ ben for Huck; Huck done it. Jim ’t ever forgit you, Huck; you’s de bes’ fren’ Jim’s ever had; en you’s de fren’ ole Jim’s got .” I was paddling , in a sweat to tell on him; but when he says this, it seemed to kind of take the tuck out of me. I went along slow then, and I warn’t right down certain whether I was glad I started or whether I warn’t. When I was fifty yards , Jim says: “Dah you goes, de ole true Huck; de on’y white genlman dat ever kep’ his to ole Jim.” Well, I just felt sick. But I says, I got to do it—I can’t out of it Martin D. 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