rich ain’t what it’s cracked up to be. It’s just worry and worry, and sweat and sweat, and a-wishing you was dead all the time. Now these clothes suits me, and this bar’l suits me, and I ain’t ever going to shake ’em any more.

Tom, I wouldn’t ever got into all this trouble if it hadn’t ’a’ ben for that money; now you just take my sheer of it along with your’n, and gimme a ten-center sometimes — not many times, becuz I don’t give a dern for a thing ’thout it’s tollable hard to git — and you go and beg off for me with the widder.”

“Oh, Huck, you know I can’t do that. ’Tain’t fair; and besides if you’ll try this thing just a while longer you’ll come to like it.”