tackled missionarying, and mesmerizing, and doctoring, and telling fortunes, and a little of everything; but they couldn't seem to have no luck.  So at last they got just about dead broke, and laid around the raft as she floated along, thinking and thinking, and never saying nothing, by the half a day at a time, and dreadful blue and desperate. And at last they took a change and begun to lay their heads together in the wigwam and talk low and confidential two or three hours at a time. Jim and me got uneasy.  We didn't like the look of it.  We judged they was studying up some kind of worse deviltry than ever.  We turned it over and over, and at last we made up our minds they was going to break into somebody's house or store, or was going into the counterfeit-money business, or something. So then we was pretty scared, and made up an agreement that we wouldn't have nothing in the world to do with such actions, and if we ever got the least show we would give them the cold shake and clear out and leave them behind. Well, early one morning we hid the raft in a good, safe place about two mile below a little bit of a shabby village named Pikesville, and the king he went ashore and told us all to stay hid whilst he went up to town and smelt around to see if anybody had got any wind of the Royal Nonesuch there yet. (“House to rob, you _mean_,” says I to myself; “and when you get through robbing it you'll come back here and wonder what has become of me and Jim and the raft--and you'll have to take it out in wondering.”) And he said if he warn't back by midday the duke and me would know it was all right, and we was to come along. So we stayed where we was.  The duke he fretted and sweated around, and was in a mighty sour way.  He scolded us for everything, and we couldn't seem to do nothing right; he found fault with every little thing. Something was a-brewing, sure.  I was good and glad when midday come and no king; we could have a change, anyway--and maybe a chance for _th