This funeral stopped the further growth of one thing—the petition to the governor for Injun Joe’s pardon. The petition had been largely signed; many tearful and eloquent meetings had been held, and a committee of sappy women been appointed to go in deep mourning and wail around the governor, and implore him to be a merciful ass and trample his duty under foot. Injun Joe was believed to have killed five citizens of the village, but what of that? If he had been Satan himself there would have been plenty of weaklings ready to scribble their names to a pardon-petition, and drip a tear on it from their permanently impaired and leaky waterworks.
The morning after the funeral Tom took Huck to a private place to have an important talk. Huck had learned all about Tom’s adventure from the Welshman and the Widow Douglas, by this time, but Tom said he reckoned there was one thing they had not told him; that thing was what he wanted to talk about now. Huck’s face saddened. He said:
“I know what it is. You got into No. 2 and never found anything but whiskey. Nobody told me it was you; but I just knowed it must ’a’ ben you, soon as I heard ’bout that whiskey business; and I knowed you hadn’t got the money becuz you’d ’a’ got at me some way or other and told me even if you was mum to everybody else. Tom, something’s always told me we’d never get holt of that swag.”
“Why, Huck, I never told on that tavern-keeper. You know his tavern was all right the Saturday I went to the picnic. Don’t you remember you was to watch there that night?”
“Oh yes! Why, it seems ’bout a year ago. It was that very night that I follered Injun Joe to the widder’s.”
“ You followed him?”
“Yes—but you keep mum. I reckon Injun Joe’s left friends behind him, and I don’t want ’em souring on me and doing me mean tricks. If it