The Adventures of Tom Sawyer: Chapter 05-06

Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:01):
The Adventures of Tom Sawyer by Mark Twain, Chapter five,
The pinch Bug and his Prey. About half past ten,
the cracked bell of the small church began to ring,
and presently the people began to gather for the morning sermon.
The Sunday school children distributed themselves about the house and

(00:22):
occupied pews with their parents, so as to be under supervision.
Aunt Polly came and Tom and Sid and Mary sat
with her, Tom being placed next to the isle in
order that he might be as far away from the
open window and the seductive outside summer scenes as possible.
The crowd filed up the isles. The aged and needy postmaster,

(00:44):
who had seen better days. The Mayor and his wife,
for they had a mayor there, among other unnecessaries, the
Justice of the Peace, the widow Douglas Fair, smart and forty,
a generous, good hearted soul and well to do. Her
Hill Mansion, the only palace in the town, and the
most hospitable, and much the most lavish in the matter

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of festivities that Saint Petersburg could boast. The bent and
venerable Major and Missus Ward Lawyer Riverson. They knew notable
from a distance next the bell of the village, followed
by a troop of lawn clad and ribbon decked young heartbreakers.
Then all the young clerks in town in a body,

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for they had stood in the vestibules, sucking their cane heads,
a circling wall of oiled and simpering admirers, till the
last girl had run their gamphlet. And last of all
came the model boy, Willie Mufferson, taking as heedful care
of his mother as if she were cut glass. He
always brought his mother to church, and was the pride

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of all the matrons. The boys all hated him. He
was no good, and besides he had been thrown up
to them so much. His white handkerchief was hanging out
of his pocket behind as usual on Sundays. Accidentally, Tom
had no handkerchief, and he looked upon boys who had
as snobs. The congregation being fully assembled now, the bell

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rang once more to worn laggards and stragglers, and then
a solemn hush fell upon the church, which was only
broken by the tittering and whispering of the choir in
the gallery. The choir all was tittered and whispered all
through service. There was once a church choir that was
not ill bred, but I have forgotten where it was now.

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It was a great many years ago, and I can
scarcely remember anything about it, but I think it was
in some foreign country. The minister gave out the hymn
and read it through with a relish in a peculiar style,
which was much admired in that part of the country.
His voice began on a medium key and climbed steadily
up till it reached a certain point where it bore

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with strong emphasis upon the topmost word, and then plunged
down as if from a springboard. Lord, shall I be
carried to tow the skies on flowery beds of ease,
whilst others fight to win the prize and sail through

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bloody seas. He was regarded as a wonderful reader at
church sociables. He was always called upon to read poetry,
and when he was through, the ladies would lift up
their hands and let them fall helplessly in their laps,
and wall their eyes and shake their heads as much

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as to say, words cannot express it. It is too beautiful,
too beautiful for this mortal earth. After the hymn had
been sung, the Reverend mister Sprague turned himself into a
bulletin board and read off notices of meetings and societies
and things, till it seemed that the list would stretch
out to the crack of doom, a queer custom which

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is still kept up in America, even in cities away
here in this aba age of abundant newspapers. Often the
less there is to justify a traditional custom, the harder
it is to get rid of it. And now the
minister prayed a good, generous prayer it was, and went
into details. It pleaded for the church and the little

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children of the Church, for the other churches of the village,
for the village itself, for the county, for the state,
for the state officers, for the United States, for the
churches of the United States, for Congress, for the President,
for the officers of the government. For poor sailors tossed
by stormy seas, For the oppressed millions groaning under the

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heel of European monarchies and Oriental despotisms, For such as
have the light and the good tidings, and yet have
not eyes to see nor ears to hear withal, For
the heathen in the far islands of the sea, and
closed or the supplication that the words he was about
to speak might find grace and favor, and be he
as seeds sown in fertile ground, yielding in time a

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grateful harvest of good Ahmen. There was a rustling of dresses,
and the standing congregation sat down. The boy whose history
this book relates did not enjoy the prayer. He only
endured it. If he even did that much, He was
restive all through it. He kept tally of the details
of the prayer unconsciously, for he was not listening. But

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he knew the ground of old and the clergyman's regular
root over it. And when a little trifle of new
matter was interlarded, his ear detected it, and his whole
nature resented it. He considered editions unfair and scoundrelly. In
the midst of the prayer, a fly had lit on
the back of the pew in front of him, and
tortured his spirit by calmly rubbing its hands together, embracing

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its head with its arms, and polishing it so vigorously
that it seemed to almost part company with a body,
and the slender thread of a neck was exposed to view,
scraping its wings with its hind legs and smoothing them
to its body as if they had been coat tails,
going through its whole toilet, as tranquility, as if it
knew it was perfectly safe, as indeed it was. For

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as sorely as Tom's hands itched to grab for it,
they did not dare. He believed his soul would be
instantly destroyed if he did such a thing while the
prayer was going on. But with the closing sentence his
hand began to curve and steal forward, and the instant
the amen was out, the fly was a prisoner of war.
His aunt detected the act and made him let it go.

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The minister gave out his text and droned along monotonously
through an argument that was so prosy that many a
head by and by began to nod. And yet it
was an argument that dealt in limitless fire and brimstone,
and thin the predestined elect down to a company so
small as to be hardly worth the saving. Tom counted

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the pages of the sermon after church. He always knew
how many pages there had been, but he saw knew
anything else about the discourse. However, this time he was
really interested. For a little while the minister made a
grand and moving picture of the assembling together of the
world's hosts at the millennium, when the lion and the
lamb should lie down together, and a little child should

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lead them. But the pathos, the lesson, the moral of
the great spectacle were lost upon the boy. He only
thought of the conspicuousness of the principal character before the
onlooking nations. His face lit with the thought, and he
said to himself that he wished he could be that child,
if it was a tame lion. Now he lapsed into
suffering again, as the dry argument was resumed. Presently he

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bethought him of a treasure he had, and got it out.
It was a large black beetle with formidable jaws, a
pinch bug, he called it. It was in a percussion
cap box. The first thing the beadle did was to
take him by the finger. A natural Philip followed. The
beetle went floundering into the aisle and lit on its back,
and the hurt finger went into the boy's mouth. The

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beadle lay there, working its helpless legs, unable to turn over.
Tom eyed it and longed for it, but it was
safe out of his reach. Other people, uninterested in the sermon,
found relief in the beetle, and they eyed it too. Presently,
a vagrant poodle dog came idling along, sad at heart,
lazy with the summer softness and the quiet, weary of captivity.

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Sighing for change, he spied the beetle. The drooping tail
lifted and wagged. He surveyed the prize, walked around it,
smelt at it from a safe distance, walked around it again,
grew bolder and took a closer smell. Then lifted his
lip and made a gingerly snatch at it, just missing it.
Made another, and another, began to enjoy the diversion. Subsided

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to his stomach with the beetle between his paws, and
continued his experiments. Grew weary at last, and then indifferent
and absent minded. His head nodded, and little by little
his chin descended and touched the enemy, who see he
eased it. There was a sharp yelp, a flirt of
the poodle's head, and the beadle fell a couple of
yards away and lit on its back once more. The

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neighboring spectators shook with a gentle inward joy. Several faces
went behind fans and handkerchiefs, and Tom was entirely happy.
The dog looked foolish, and probably felt so, but there
was resentment in his heart too, and a craving for revenge.
So he went to the beetle and began a wary
attack on it again, jumping at it from every point

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of a circle, lighting with his fore paws within an
inch of the creature, making even closer, snatches at it
with his teeth, and jerking his head till his ears
flapped again. But he grew tired once more. After a while,
tried to amuse himself with a fly, but found no relief.
Followed an ant around with his nose close to the floor,
and quickly wearied of that, yawned, sighed, forgot the beetle entirely,

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and sat down on it. Then there was a wild
yelp of agony, and the poodle went sailing up the aisle.
The alps continued, and so did the He crossed the
house in front of the altar, He flew down the
other aisle, he crossed before the doors. He clambered up
the home stretch. His anguish grew with his progress, till
presently he was but a wooly comet, moving in its

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orbit with a gleam and the speed of light. At last,
the frantic sufferer sheared from its course and sprang into
its master's lap. He flung it out of the window,
and the voice of distress quickly thinned away and died
in the distance. By this time the whole church was
red faced and suffocating with suppressed laughter, and the sermon
had come to a dead standstill. The discourse was resumed presently,

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but it went lame and halting, all possibility of impressiveness
being at an end, for even the gravest sentiments were
constantly being received with a smothered burst of unholy mirth
under cover of some remote pewback, as if the poor
parson had said a rarely facetious thing. It was a
genuine relief to the whole congregation. When the ordeal was

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over and the benediction pronounced, Tom Sawyer went home quite cheerful,
thinking to himself that there was some satisfaction about divine
service when there was a bit of variety in it.
He had but one marring thought. He was willing that
the dog should play with his pinch bug. But he
did not think it was upright in him to carry
it off. Chapter six, Tom meets Becky. Monday morning found

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Tom Sawyer miserable. Monday morning always found him so because
it began another week slow suffering in school. He generally
began that day with wishing he had had no intervening holiday.
It made the going into captivity in fetters again so
much more odious. Tom lay thinking presently. It occurred to

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him that he wished he was sick than he could
stay home from school. Here was a vague possibility he
canvassed his system. No ailment was found, and he investigated again.
This time he thought he could tech colicky symptoms, and
he began to encourage them with considerable hope. But they
soon grew feeble and presently died wholly away, he reflected further.

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Suddenly he discovered something. One of his upper front teeth
was loose. This was lucky. He was about to begin
to groan as a starter, as he called it, when
it occurred to him that if he came into court
with that argument, his aunt would pull it out and
that would hurt. So he thought he would hold a
tooth and reserve for the present and seek further Nothing

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offered for some little time, and then he remembered hearing
the doctor tell about a certain thing that laid up
a patient for two or three weeks and threatened to
make him lose a finger. So the boy eagerly drew
his sore toe from under the sheet and held it
up for inspection. But now he did not know the
necessary symptoms. However, it seemed well worth while to chance it.

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So he fell to groaning with considerable spirit. But Sid
slept on unconscious. Tom grown louder and fancied that he
began to feel pain in the toe. No result from Syd.
Tom was panting with his exertions. By this time. He
took a rest and then swelled himself up and fetched
a succession of admirable groans. Syd snored on. Tom was aggravated,

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He said Sid, Sid, and shook him. This course worked well,
and Tom began to groan again. Sid yawned, stretched, then
brought himself up on his elbow with a snort, and
began to stare at Tom. Tom went on groaning, and
Sid said, Tom, say Tom, no response here, Tom, Tom,

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What is the matter? Tom? And he shook him and
looked in his face anxiously, Tom moaned out, Oh, don't, Sid,
don't joggle me? Why? What's the matter, Tom? I must
call Aunty. No, never mind, it'll be over by and by.
Maybe don't call anybody, but I must don't groan, so, Tom,

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it's awful how long you've been this way? Ours? Oh chaw,
don't stir so, Sid, you'll you'll kill me? Tom? Why
didn't you wake me sooner? Oh? Tom, don't? It makes
my flesh crawl to hear you. Tom. What is the matter?
I forgive you everything, Sid, Oh, everything you've ever done

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to me when I'm gone, Tom, don't you You ain't dying?
Are you? Don't? Tom? Oh? Don't? Maybe? Oh? I forgive
everything Sid? No tell him? So, Sid? And Sid, you
give my window sash and my cat with one eye
to that new girl that's come to town, and tell her.

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But Sid had snatched his clothes and gone. Tom was
suffering in reality now so handsomely was his imagination working,
and so his groans had gathered quite a genuine tone.
Sid flew downstairs and said, oh, Aunt Polly, come, Tom's dying, dying? Yes,
and don't wait, come quick, rubbish. I don't believe it.

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But She fled upstairs nevertheless, with Sid and Marry at
her heels, and her face grew white too, and her
lip trembled. When she reached the bedside, she gasped out you, Tom, Tom,
what's the matter with you? Oh Auntie? I'm what's the
matter with you? What is the matter with you? Child?
Oh Auntie, my sore toes. Mortified, the old lady sank

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down into a chair and laughed a little, then cried little,
then did both together. This restored her, and she said, Tom,
what a turn you did give me. Now you shut
up that nonsense and climb out of this. The groans ceased,
and the pain vanished from the toe. The boy felt
a little foolish, and he said, Aunt Polly, it seemed mortified,
and it hurts so I never minded my tooth at all.

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Your tooth. Indeed, what's the matter with your tooth? One
of them's loose, and it aches perfectly awful there there. Now,
don't begin that groaning again. Open your mouth. Well, you're
too is loose, but you're not going to die about that. Mary,
get me a silk thread and a chunk of fire
out of the kitchen. Tom said, oh, please, Auntie, don't

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pull it out. It don't hurt any more. I wish
I may never stir if it does. Please don't, Auntie.
I don't want to stay home from school. Oh you don't,
don't you? So? All this row was because you thought
you'd get to stay home from school and go a
fishing Tom, Tom, I love you so, and you seem
to try every way you can to break my old

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heart with your outrageousness. By this time the dental instruments
were ready. The old lady made one end of the
silk thread fast to Tom's tooth with a loop, and
tied the other to the bed post. Then she seized
the chunk of fire and suddenly thrust it almost into
the boy's face. The tooth hung dangling by the bed
post now, but all trials bring their compensations. As Tom

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went into school after breakfast, he was the envy of
every boy he met, because the gap in his upper
row of teeth enabled him to expectorate in a new
and admirable way. He gathered quite a following of lads
interested in the exhibition, and one that had cut his
finger and had been a center of fascination and homage
up to this time. Now found himself suddenly without an

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adherent and shorn of his glory. His heart was heavy,
and he said, with a disdain which he did not feel,
that it wasn't anything to spit like Tom sawyer. But
another boy said, sour grapes, and he wandered away, a
dismantled hero. Shortly Tom came upon the juvenile pariah of
the village, Huckleberry Finn, son of the town Drunkard. Huckleberry

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was cordially hated and dreaded by all the mothers of
the town because he was idle and lawless, and vulgar
and bad, and because all their children admired him so
and delighted in his forbidden society, and wished they dared
to be like him. Tom was like the rest of
the respectable boys in that he envied Huckleberry his gaudy,

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outcast condition, and was under strict orders not to play
with him, so he played with him every time he
got a chance. Huckleberry was always dressed in the cast
off clothes of full grown men, and they were in
perennial bloom and fluttering with rags. His hat was a
vast ruin with a wide crescent lopped out of its brim.

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His coat when he wore one, hung nearly to his heels,
and had the rearward buttons far down the back. But
one suspender supported his trousers. The seat of the trousers
bagged low and contained nothing. The fringed legs dragged in
the dirt when not rolled up. Huckleberry came and went
at his own free will. He slept on door steps

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in fine weather and in empty hogsheads and wet. He
did not have to go to school or to church,
or call any being master, or obey anybody. He could
go fishing or swimming when and where he chose, and
stay as long as it suited him. Nobody forbade him
to fight. He could sit up as late as he pleased.
He was always the first boy that went barefoot in

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the spring, and the last to resume leather in the fall.
He never had to wash nor put on clean clothes.
He could swear wonderfully in a word, everything that goes
to make life precious. That boy had so thought every harassed, hampered,
respectable boy in Saint Petersburg. Tom hailed a romantic outcast.

(19:19):
Hello Huckleberry, Hello yourself, and see how you like it.
What's that you got? Dead cat? Let me see him, Huck, My,
he's pretty stiff. Where'd you get him? Bought him off
in a boy? What'd you give? I gave a blue
ticket and a bladder that I got at the slaughterhouse?
Where'd you get the blue ticket? Bought it off in?
Ben Rogers two weeks ago? For a hoopstick? Say? What

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is dead Cat's good for? Huck? Good for cure? Warts? With? No?
Is that? So? I know something that's better? I bet
you don't. What is it? Why? Spunk water? Spunk water?
I wouldn't give a dern for spunk water. You wouldn't,
wouldn't you? Do you ever try it? No? I hain't.

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But Bob Tanner did? Who told you so? Why? He
told Jeff Thatcher, and Jeff told Johnny Baker, and Johnny
told Jim Hollis, and Jim told Ben Rogers, and Ben
told a nigger, and the nigger told me there. Now, well,
what of it? They'll all lie least? Why is all
but the nigger? I don't know him, but I never
see a nigger that wouldn't lie. Shucks. Now you tell

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me how Bob Tanner done it? Huck? Why he took
and dipped his hand in a rotten stump where the
rain water was in the daytime, certainly with his face
to the stump. Yes, least I reckon. So did he
say anything? I don't reckon he did. I don't know. Ah,
talk about trying to cure wartz with spunk water. Such

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a blame fool way as that. Why that ain't it
going to do any good? You got to go all
by yourself to the middle of the woods where you
know there's a spunk water stump, and just as it's midnight,
you back up against the stump and jam your hand
in and say, barleycorn, barley corn, engine, meal shorts, spunk water,
spunk water. Swallow these warts, and then walk away quick,

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eleven steps with your eyes shut, and then turn around
three times and walk home without speaking to anybody, because
if you speak, the charms busted. Well, that sounds like
a good way. But that ain't the way Bob Tanner done. No, sir,
You can bet he didn't, because he's the wartiest boy
in this town, and he wouldn't have a wart on
him if he'd known how to work spunk water. I've

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took thousands of warts off my hands that way, Huck.
I play with frogs so much. I've always got considerable
many warts. Sometimes I take him off with a bean. Yes,
bean's good, I've done that, have you? What's your way?
You take and split the bean and cut the warts
so as to get some blood, and then you put
the blood on one piece of the bean and take

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and dig a hole and bury it about midnight at
the crossroads, in the dark of the moon, and then
you burn up the rest of the bean. You see,
that piece that's got the blood on it will keep
drawing and drawing, trying to fetch the other piece to it,
and so that helps the blood to draw the wart,
and pretty soon off she comes. Yes, that's it, Huck.
That's it. Though, when you're burying it, if you say down, bean, off, wart, come,

(22:22):
no more to bother me, it's better. That's the way
Joe Harper does. And he's been nearly to Coonville and
most everywheres. But say, how do you cure him with
dead cats? Why you take your cat and go and
get in the graveyard long about midnight when somebody that
was wicked has been buried, And when it's midnight, a
devil will come or maybe two or three. But you

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can't see him. You can only hear something like the wind,
or maybe hear him talk. And when they're taking that
feller away, you heave your cat after him and say,
devil follow, corpse cat follow, devil, warts follow cat, I'm
done with you. That'll fetch any wart. Sounds right? Do
you ever try it? Huck? No, but old mother Hopkins

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told me, well, I reckon it. So then, because they
say she's a witch, say why Tom, I know she is?
She witched Pap. Pap says, so his own self. He
come along one day and he sees she was a
witching him. So he took up a rock, and if
she hadn't dodged, he'd got her. Well, that very night

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he rolled off on the shed where he was a
laying drunk and broke his arm. Why that's awful. How
do you know she was a witching him? Lord Pap
can tell easy, Pap says, when they keep looking at
you right, stiddy, they're witching you, especially if they mumble,
because when they mumble, they're saying the Lord's prayer backwards.

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Say hockey, when you're going to try the cat tonight?
I reckon they'll come after old Hoss Williams to night.
But they buried him Saturday. Didn't they get him Saturday night? Why?
How you talk? How could their charms work till midnight?
And then it's Sunday? Devils don't slush round much of

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a Sunday. I don't reckon. I never thought of that.
That's so let me go with you. Of course, if
he ain't a feared, A feared tain't likely. Will you meow? Yes?
And you meow back if you get a chance. Last
time you kept me a meowing around till Old Hayes
went to throwing rocks at me and says, daring that cat.
And so I hove a brick through his window. But

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don't you tell I won't. I couldn't meow that night
because Auntie was watching me. But ell meow this time?
Say what's that? Nothing but a tick? Where'd you get
him out in the woods? What'll you take for him?
I don't know. I I don't want to sell him
all right. It's a mighty small tick anyway. Oh, anybody
can run a tick down that don't belong to them.

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I'm satisfied with it. It's a good enough tick for me. Sho,
there's ticks of plenty. I could have a thousand of
them if I wanted to. Well, why don't you, because
you know mighty well you can't. This is a pretty
early tick. I reckon, it's first one i've seen this year,
Say Hawk, I'll give you my tooth for him. Let's

(25:11):
see it. Tom got out a bit of paper and
carefully unrolled it. Huckleberry viewed it wistfully. The temptation was
very strong. At last, he said, is it genuine? Tom
lifted his lip and showed the vacancy. Well, all right,
said Huckleberry. It's a trade. Tom enclosed the tick in
the percussion cat box that had lately been the pinch

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Bug's prison, and the boys separated, each feeling wealthier than before.
When Tom reached the little isolated frame schoolhouse, he strode
in briskly, with the manner of one who had come
with all on his speed. He hung his hat on
a peg and flung himself into his seat with business
like alacrity. The master throned on high, and his great
splint bottom arm chair was dozing, lulled by the drowsy

(25:56):
hum of study. The interruption roused him. Tomas saw uer
Tom knew that when his name was pronounced in full,
it meant trouble. Sir. Come up here, now, sir, why
are you late again? As usual? Tom was about to
take refuge in a lie when he saw two long
tales of yellow hair hanging down a back that he

(26:17):
recognized by the electric sympathy of love, and by that form,
was the only vacant place on the girl's side of
the schoolhouse. He instantly said, I stop to talk with
Huckleberry Finn. The master's pulse stood still, and he stared helplessly.
The buzz of study ceased. The pupils wondered if this
foolhardy boy had lost his mind. The master said, you

(26:41):
you did what? Stop to talk with Huckleberry Finn. There
was no mistaking the words Thomas Sawyer. This is the
most astounding confession I have ever listened to. No Mere
Ferrell will answer for this offense. Take off your jacket.
The master's arm performed until it was tired and the
stock of switches notably diminished. Then the order followed, Now, sir,

(27:05):
go and sit with the girls, and let this be
a warning to you. The titter that rippled around the
room appeared to abash the boy, but in reality that
result was caused rather more by his worshipful awe of
his unknown idol and a dread pleasure that lay in
his high good fortune. He sat down upon the end

(27:25):
of the pine bench, and the girl hitched herself away
from him with a toss of her head. Nudges and
winks and whispers traversed the room, but Tom sat still,
with his arms upon the long low desk before him,
and seemed to study his book. By and by attention
ceased from him, and the accustomed school murmur rose upon
the dull air once more. Presently, the boy began to

(27:47):
steal furtive glances at the girl. She observed it, made
a mouth at him, and gave him the back of
her head for the space of a minute. When she
cautiously faced around again, a peach lay before her. She
thrust it away. Tom gently put it back. She thrust
it away again, but with less animosity. Tom patiently returned

(28:07):
it to its place. Then she let it remain. Tom
scrawled on his slate, please take it. I got more.
The girl glanced at the words but made no sign.
Now the boy began to draw something on the slate
hiding his work with his left hand. For a time,
the girl refused to notice, but her human curiosity presently
began to manifest itself by hardly perceptible signs. The boy

(28:31):
worked on apparently unconscious. The girl made a sort of
noncommittal attempt to see it, but the boy did not
betray that he was aware of it. At last, she
gave in and hesitatingly whispered, let me see it. Tom
uncovered a dismal caricature of a house with two gable
ends to it and a corkscrew of smoke issuing from
the chimney. Then the girl's interests began to fasten itself

(28:54):
upon the work, as she forgot everything else. When it
was finished, she gazed a moment, then whispered, it it's nice.
Make a man. The artist erected a man in the
front yard that resembled a derrick. He could have stepped
over the house, but the girl was not hypercritical. She
was satisfied with the monster and whispered, it's a beautiful man.

(29:14):
Now make me coming along. Tom drew an hour glass
with a full moon and straw limbs to it, and
armed the spreading fingers with a portentous fan. The girl said,
it's ever so nice. I wish I could draw. It's easy,
whispered Tom. I'll learn you. Oh, will you? When at
noon do you go home to dinner? I'll stay if

(29:36):
you will good. That's a whack. What's your name, Becky thatcher?
What's yours? Oh? I know it's Tom as Sawyer. That's
the name they lick me by. I'm Tom. When I'm good,
you can call me Tom, will you? Yes? Now, Tom
began to scrawl something on the slate, hiding the words
from the girl, but she was not backward this time.

(29:58):
She begged to see. Tom said, oh, it ain't anything,
Yes it is. No, it ain't you. You don't want
to see it? Yes I do, indeed I do. Please
let me. You'll tell No, I won't deed and deed
and double deed. I won't. You won't tell anybody at
all ever, as long as you live. No, I won't
ever tell anybody. Now let me. Oh, you don't want

(30:19):
to see now that you treat me, so I will see.
And she put her small hand upon his, and a
little scuffle ensued. Tom pretending to resist in earnest but
letting his hands slip by degrees till these words were revealed,
I love you, Oh, you bad thing. And she hid
his hand a smart rap, but reddened and looked pleased. Nevertheless,

(30:41):
just at this juncture, the boy felt a slow, fateful
grip closing on his ear, and a steady lifting impulse.
In that vice, he was born across the house and
deposited in his own seat under a peppering fire of
giggles from the whole school. Then the master stood over
him during a few awful moments, and finally moved away

(31:02):
to his throne without saying a word. But although Tom's
ear tingled, his heart was jubilant. As the school quieted down,
Tom made an honest effort to study, but the turmoil
within him was too great. In turn, he took his
place in the reading class and made a botch of it,
Then in the geography class, and turned lakes into mountains,

(31:22):
mountains into rivers, and rivers into continents till chaos was
come again. Then in the spelling class, and got turned
down by a succession of mere baby words, till he
brought up at the foot and yielded up the pewter
metal which he had worn with ostentation for months end
of chapter six,