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HuckFinn Pages 27

The narrator encounters a disheveled man who instills a mix of fear and curiosity. The man's appearance is described in detail, highlighting his unkempt hair, pale skin, and ragged clothes. Despite initial fright, the narrator realizes they are not truly scared of him.

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18 views1 page

HuckFinn Pages 27

The narrator encounters a disheveled man who instills a mix of fear and curiosity. The man's appearance is described in detail, highlighting his unkempt hair, pale skin, and ragged clothes. Despite initial fright, the narrator realizes they are not truly scared of him.

Uploaded by

marcusmelodious
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© © All Rights Reserved
We take content rights seriously. If you suspect this is your content, claim it here.
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CHAPTER FIVE

I had shut the door to. Then I turned around, and there he was.
I used to be scared of him all the time, he tanned me so much. I
reckoned I was scared now, too; but in a minute I see I was mistak-
en—that is, after the first jolt, as you may say, when my breath sort
of hitched, he being so unexpected; but right away after I see I warn’t
scared of him worth bothring about.
He was most fifty, and he looked it. His hair was long and tangled
and greasy, and hung down, and you could see his eyes shining
through like he was behind vines. It was all black, no gray; so was his
long, mixed-up whiskers. There warn’t no color in his face, where his
face showed; it was white; not like another man’s white, but a white
to make a body sick, a white to make a body’s flesh crawl—a tree-
toad white, a fish-belly white. As for his clothes—just rags, that was
all. He had one ankle resting on t’other knee; the boot on that foot
was busted, and two of his toes stuck through, and he worked them
now and then. His hat was laying on the floor—an old black slouch
with the top caved in, like a lid.
I stood a-looking at him; he set there a-looking at me, with his
chair tilted back a little. I set the candle down. I noticed the window
was up; so he had clumb in by the shed. He kept a-looking me all
over. By and by he says:
“Starchy clothes—very. You think you’re a good deal of a big-bug,
don’t you?”
“Maybe I am, maybe I ain’t,” I says.
“Don’t you give me none o’ your lip,” says he. “You’ve put on con-

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