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Practice and improve writing style. Write like Mark Twain

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Tom Sawyer stepped forward with conceited confidence and soared into the unquenchable and indestructible “Give me liberty or give me death” speech, with fine fury and frantic gesticulation, and broke down in the middle of it. A ghastly stage-fright seized him, his legs quaked under him and he was like to choke. True, he had the manifest sympathy of the house but he had the house’s silence, too, which was even worse than its sympathy. The master frowned, and this completed the disaster. Tom struggled awhile and then retired, utterly defeated. There was a weak attempt at applause, but it died early.

 

Huck had made another terrible mistake! He was trying his best to keep the old man from getting the faintest hint of who the Spaniard might be, and yet his tongue seemed determined to get him into trouble in spite of all he could do. He made several efforts to creep out of his scrape, but the old man’s eye was upon him and he made blunder after blunder. Presently the Welshman said:

 

“In the common walks of life, with what delightful emotions does the youthful mind look forward to some anticipated scene of festivity! Imagination is busy sketching rose-tinted pictures of joy. In fancy, the voluptuous votary of fashion sees herself amid the festive throng, ‘the observed of all observers.’ Her graceful form, arrayed in snowy robes, is whirling through the mazes of the joyous dance; her eye is brightest, her step is lightest in the gay assembly.

 

“Might! Better say we would! There’s some lucky days, maybe, but Friday ain’t.”

 

So he got into the shoes snarling. Mary was soon ready, and the three children set out for Sunday-school—a place that Tom hated with his whole heart; but Sid and Mary were fond of it.

 

So I slipped back the one I had, and when she got done counting, she says:

 

“Hold on a minute. I’ll put you up a snack to eat. You might want it.”

 

He kept me with him all the time, and I never got a chance to run off. We lived in that old cabin, and he always locked the door and put the key under his head nights. He had a gun which he had stole, I reckon, and we fished and hunted, and that was what we lived on. Every little while he locked me in and went down to the store, three miles, to the ferry, and traded fish and game for whisky, and fetched it home and got drunk and had a good time, and licked me. The widow she found out where I was by and by, and she sent a man over to try to get hold of me; but pap drove him off with the gun, and it warn’t long after that till I was used to being where I was, and liked it—all but the cowhide part.

 

Sudden as winking the ornery old cretur went an to smash, and fell up against the man, and put his chin on his shoulder, and cried down his back, and says:

 

“But they will—and inside of two weeks—and I know it!” says I.

 

“I like thy spirit, I do in truth; but I do not admire thy judgment. Bone-rackings and bastings be plenty enow in this life, without going out of one’s way to invite them.  But a truce to these matters; I believe your father.  I doubt not he can lie; I doubt not he doth lie, upon occasion, for the best of us do that; but there is no occasion here.  A wise man does not waste so good a commodity as lying for nought.  But come; sith it is thy humour to give over begging, wherewithal shall we busy ourselves?  With robbing kitchens?”

 

“Why dost thou hesitate?  Hast not heard the King’s command?  Go!”

 

Miles Hendon and Tom Canty were favourites of the King, all through his brief reign, and his sincere mourners when he died. The good Earl of Kent had too much sense to abuse his peculiar privilege; but he exercised it twice after the instance we have seen of it before he was called from this world—once at the accession of Queen Mary, and once at the accession of Queen Elizabeth.  A descendant of his exercised it at the accession of James I.  Before this one’s son chose to use the privilege, near a quarter of a century had elapsed, and the ‘privilege of the Kents’ had faded out of most people’s memories; so, when the Kent of that day appeared before Charles I. and his court and sat down in the sovereign’s presence to assert and perpetuate the right of his house, there was a fine stir indeed!  But the matter was soon explained, and the right confirmed.  The last Earl of the line fell in the wars of the Commonwealth fighting for the King, and the odd privilege ended with him.

 

“Body o’ me!  I have driven the needle under my nail! . . . It matters little—’tis not a novelty—yet ’tis not a convenience, neither. . . . We shall be merry there, little one, never doubt it! Thy troubles will vanish there, and likewise thy sad distemper—

 

NOTES to Chapter XXIII. Death for Trifling Larcenies.

 

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