12 Harvey and William Wilks

CHAPTER 12 Harvey and William Wilks A few days later the king and the duke wanted to try that game again. We hid the raft and Jim and the duke stayed with it. Then the king and I took a steamboat across the river. While we were on it, one of the other passengers started talking to the king. He told us about a family nearby that was expecting some visitors soon. The young man told us that two brothers named Peter and George Wilks had died

recently, first George, then Peter. Their other brothers, Harvey and William, were coming because Peter had sent for them before he died. The young man then told us that William couldn't hear or speak. The young man said Peter had left a letter for Harvey, which said where he had hidden his money and how he wanted his property divided up after he was dead. He wanted to make sure that George's daughters would be all right. "Why hasn't Harvey arrived yet? Where does he live?" the king asked. "Oh, he lives in England—Sheffield. He preaches there. Harvey has never been in this country. He hasn't had too much time, and besides, he might not have even received the letter at all, you know." "Poor things!" the king said. "For those girls to be left alone in the cold world so." Well, the king went on asking questions until he had almost emptied that young fellow. He

asked about everybody and everything in that town. He learned all about the Wilkses. He found out that Peter was a tanner, that George was a carpenter, that Harvey was a minister, and so on, and so on. "Was Peter Wilks well off?" "Oh, yes, pretty well off," said the young man. "He had houses and land, and it's reckoned he left three or four thousand in cash hidden somewhere." "When did you say he died?" "I didn't say, but it was last night." "Funeral tomorrow, likely?" "Yes, about the middle of the day." "Well, it's all terribly sad, but we've all got to go at one time or another. So what we want to do is to be prepared. Then we're all right." "Yes, sir, it's the best way. Ma used to always say that." When we landed at the other side and everyone else was gone, the king said:

"Now hustle back and fetch the duke up here. And bring the carpet-bags. Hurry now!" I knew what he was up to, but I never said anything, of course. When I came back with the duke, the king told him everything. He repeated the information just like the young fellow had said it—every last word of it. And all the time he tried to talk like an Englishman. He did it pretty well. Then he said: "How are you on pretending that you can't hear or speak, Bilgewater?" The duke said he had acted that way before on stage. When we got to the village, about two dozen men saw us coming and ran down to meet us. "Can any of you gentlemen tell me where Mr. Peter Wilks lives?" the king asked, in his funny accent. The men looked at one another and nodded their heads. Then one of them said in a kind of soft and gentle voice:

"I'm sorry, sir, but the best we can do is to tell you where he did live yesterday evening." The king started to cry and said: "Alas, alas, our poor brother! Gone, and we never got to see him. Oh, it's too, too hard!" Then he turned around, blubbering, and made some signs to the duke with his hands. And then the duke started crying! The men gathered around and tried to comfort them. They said all sorts of kind things to them and carried their carpet-bags up the hill for them. They let the king and the duke lean on them and cry while they told the king all about his brother's last moments. Then the king used his hands to tell the duke everything he had heard. I had never seen anything like them in my life.