t
_him_ pass the hat around!" Then everybody said it, the preacher too.

So the king went all through the crowd with his hat, swabbing his
eyes, and blessing the people and praising them and thanking them for
being so good to the poor pirates away off there; and every little
while the prettiest kind of girls, with the tears running down their
cheeks, would up and ask him would he let them kiss him for to
remember him by; and he always done it; and some of them he hugged and
kissed as many as five or six times--and he was invited to stay a
week; and everybody wanted him to live in their houses, and said
they'd think it was an honor; but he said as this was the last day of
the camp-meeting he couldn't do no good, and besides he was in a sweat
to get to the Indian Ocean right off and go to work on the pirates.

When we got back to the raft and he come to count up he found he had
collected eighty-seven dollars and seventy-five cents. And then he had
fetched away a three-gallon jug of whisky, too, that he found under a
wagon when he was starting home through the woods. The king said, take
it all around, it laid over any day he'd ever put in in the
missionarying line. He said it warn't no use talking, heathens don't
amount to shucks alongside of pirates to work a camp-meeting with.

The duke was thinking _he'd_ been doing pretty well till the king
come to show up, but after that he didn't think so so much. He
had set up and printed off two little jobs for farmers in that
printing-office--horse bills--and took the money, four dollars. And he
had got in ten dollars' worth of advertisements for the paper, which
he said he would put in for four dollars if they would pay in
advance--so they done it. The price of the paper was two dollars a
year, but he took in three subscriptions for half a dollar apiece on
condition of them paying him in advance; they were going to pay in
cordwood and onions as usual, but he said he had just bought the
concern and knocked down the price as low as he could afford it, and
was going to run it for cash. He set up a little piece of poetry,
which he made, himself, out of his own head--three verses--kind of
sweet and saddish--the name of it was, "Yes, crush, cold world, this
breaking heart"--and he left that all set up and ready to print in the
paper, and didn't charge nothing for it. Well, he took in nine dollars
and a half, and said he'd done a pretty square day's work for it.

Then he showed us a