[7]. As he came closer, he called:
“Tom!”
No answer. Tom was whitewashing the fence; he surveyed his last touch with the eye of an artist, then gave his brush another gentle sweep and surveyed the result, as before. Tom’s mouth watered for the apple, but he continued working. Ben said:
“Hello, old chap!”
Tom turned to Ben.
“Why, it’s you, Ben! I didn’t notice you.”
“I’m going swimming. Don’t you wish you could? But of course you’d rather work—wouldn’t you? Course you would!”
“What do you call work?”
“Why, isn’t THAT work?”
Tom continued his whitewashing, and answered carelessly:
“Well, maybe it is, and maybe it isn’t. All I know is it suits Tom Sawyer.”
“Don’t say you LIKE it. I won’t believe you!”
The brush continued to move.
“Like it? Well, does a boy get a chance to whitewash a fence every day?’
That put the thing in a new light. Ben stopped biting his apple. He was watching Tom’s every move and was getting more and more interested. At last he said:
“Tom, let ME whitewash a little.”
Tom considered it, and then said:
“If it was the back fence I wouldn’t mind and Aunt Polly wouldn’t. But it’s the front fence; it must be done very carefully. There isn’t one boy in a thousand, maybe two thousand, that can do it the way it should be done.”
“Oh, let me just try. Only just a little. I’ll give you the core of my apple[8].”
Tom considered it. He said:
“No—no—It wouldn’t do, Ben. You see, Aunt Polly’s awful particular about this fence—right here on the street, you know—but if it was the back fence I wouldn’t mind and _she_ wouldn’t. Yes, she’s awful particular about this fence; it’s got to be done very careful; I think there ain’t one boy in a thousand, maybe two thousand, that can do it the way it’s got to be done.”
“No—is that so? Oh come, now—lemme just try. Only just a little.”
“Ben, I’d like to, but Aunt Polly—well, Jim wanted to do it, but she wouldn’t let him; Sid wanted to do it, and she wouldn’t let Sid. If you do a bad job—”
“I’ll be just as careful. Now lemme try. Say—I’ll give you the core of my apple.”
“No, Ben, I’m afraid—”
“I’ll give you ALL of it!”
Tom gave the brush to Ben with reluctance in his face, but cheerfulness in his heart . And while the boy worked and sweated in the sun, the retired artist sat on a barrel in the shade close by, dangled his legs, ate his apple, and planned. By the time Ben got tired, Tom had traded the next chance to Billy Fisher for a kite; and when he finished, Johnny Miller bought in for a dead rat and a string to swing it with—and so on, and so on, hour after hour. By the afternoon, Tom had become a wealthy boy. Besides the before mentioned things, he had twelve marbles, a piece of blue bottle-glass to look through, a key that wouldn’t unlock anything, a tin soldier, a kitten with only one eye, the handle of a knife, and a lot of other valuable things.