his father, the Duke of Wellington.  Well, what did he do?  Ask him to show up?  No--drownded him in a butt of mamsey, like a cat.  S'pose people left money laying around where he was--what did he do?  He collared it.  S'pose he contracted to do a thing, and you paid him, and didn't set down there and see that he done it--what did he do?  He always done the other thing. S'pose he opened his mouth--what then?  If he didn't shut it up powerful quick he'd lose a lie every time.  That's the kind of a bug Henry was; and if we'd a had him along 'stead of our kings he'd a fooled that town a heap worse than ourn done.  I don't say that ourn is lambs, because they ain't, when you come right down to the cold facts; but they ain't nothing to _that_ old ram, anyway.  All I say is, kings is kings, and you got to make allowances.  Take them all around, they're a mighty ornery lot. It's the way they're raised.” “But dis one do _smell_ so like de nation, Huck.” “Well, they all do, Jim.  We can't help the way a king smells; history don't tell no way.” “Now de duke, he's a tolerble likely man in some ways.” “Yes, a duke's different.  But not very different.  This one's a middling hard lot for a duke.  When he's drunk there ain't no near-sighted man could tell him from a king.” “Well, anyways, I doan' hanker for no mo' un um, Huck.  Dese is all I kin stan'.” “It's the way I feel, too, Jim.  But we've got them on our hands, and we got to remember what they are, and make allowances.  Sometimes I wish we could hear of a country that's out of kings.” What was the use to tell Jim these warn't real kings and dukes?  It wouldn't a done no good; and, besides, it was just as I said:  you couldn't tell them from the real kind. I went to sleep, and Jim didn't call me when it was my turn.  He often done that.  When I waked up just at daybreak he was sitting there with his head down betwixt his knees, moaning and mourning to himself.  I didn't take notice nor let on.  I knowed what it was