and that give Mrs. Phelps the chance she wanted. She stooped down quick at the foot of the bed and give me a pull, and out I come; and when he turned back from the window there she stood, a-beaming and a-smiling like a house afire, and I standing pretty meek and sweaty alongside.
The old gentleman stared, and says:
“Why, who’s that?”
“Who do you reckon ’tis?”
“I hain’t no idea. Who is it?”
“It’s Tom Sawyer!”
By jings, I most slumped through the floor! But there warn’t no time to swap knives; the old man grabbed me by the hand and shook, and kept on shaking; and all the time