- end_line
- 2202
- extracted_at
- 2026-01-28T17:35:20.593Z
- extracted_by
- structure-extraction-lambda
- start_line
- 2175
- text
- 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 genuwyne?”
Tom lifted his lip and showed the vacancy.
“Well, all right,” said Huckleberry, “it’s a trade.”
Tom enclosed the tick in the percussion-cap box that had lately been the
pinchbug’s prison, and the boys separated, each feeling wealthier than
before.
When Tom reached the little isolated frame school-house, he strode in
briskly, with the manner of one who had come with all honest speed. He
hung his hat on a peg and flung himself into his seat with business-like
alacrity. The master, throned on high in his great splint-bottom
arm-chair, was dozing, lulled by the drowsy hum of study. The
interruption roused him.
“Thomas Sawyer!”
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?”
- title
- Chunk 3