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diff --git a/1213-h/1213-h.htm b/1213-h/1213-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..090a016 --- /dev/null +++ b/1213-h/1213-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,1822 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> + <meta charset="UTF-8"> + <title> + The Man that Corrupted Hadleyburg | Project Gutenberg + </title> + <link rel="icon" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover"> + <style> + P { + margin-top: .75em; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + H1, H2 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + } + H3, H4 { + text-align: left; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + } + BODY { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + </style> +</head> +<body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 1213 ***</div> + +<p><a id="startoftext"></a></p> + +<h1>THE MAN THAT CORRUPTED HADLEYBURG</h1> +<h2>I.</h2> +<p>It was many years ago. Hadleyburg was the most honest and upright +town in all the region round about. It had kept that reputation +unsmirched during three generations, and was prouder of it than of any +other of its possessions. It was so proud of it, and so anxious +to insure its perpetuation, that it began to teach the principles of +honest dealing to its babies in the cradle, and made the like teachings +the staple of their culture thenceforward through all the years devoted +to their education. Also, throughout the formative years temptations +were kept out of the way of the young people, so that their honesty +could have every chance to harden and solidify, and become a part of +their very bone. The neighbouring towns were jealous of this honourable +supremacy, and affected to sneer at Hadleyburg’s pride in it and +call it vanity; but all the same they were obliged to acknowledge that +Hadleyburg was in reality an incorruptible town; and if pressed they +would also acknowledge that the mere fact that a young man hailed from +Hadleyburg was all the recommendation he needed when he went forth from +his natal town to seek for responsible employment.</p> +<p>But at last, in the drift of time, Hadleyburg had the ill luck to +offend a passing stranger—possibly without knowing it, certainly +without caring, for Hadleyburg was sufficient unto itself, and cared +not a rap for strangers or their opinions. Still, it would have +been well to make an exception in this one’s case, for he was +a bitter man, and revengeful. All through his wanderings during +a whole year he kept his injury in mind, and gave all his leisure moments +to trying to invent a compensating satisfaction for it. He contrived +many plans, and all of them were good, but none of them was quite sweeping +enough: the poorest of them would hurt a great many individuals, but +what he wanted was a plan which would comprehend the entire town, and +not let so much as one person escape unhurt. At last he had a +fortunate idea, and when it fell into his brain it lit up his whole +head with an evil joy. He began to form a plan at once, saying +to himself “That is the thing to do—I will corrupt the town.”</p> +<p>Six months later he went to Hadleyburg, and arrived in a buggy at +the house of the old cashier of the bank about ten at night. He +got a sack out of the buggy, shouldered it, and staggered with it through +the cottage yard, and knocked at the door. A woman’s voice +said “Come in,” and he entered, and set his sack behind +the stove in the parlour, saying politely to the old lady who sat reading +the “Missionary Herald” by the lamp:</p> +<p>“Pray keep your seat, madam, I will not disturb you. +There—now it is pretty well concealed; one would hardly know it +was there. Can I see your husband a moment, madam?”</p> +<p>No, he was gone to Brixton, and might not return before morning.</p> +<p>“Very well, madam, it is no matter. I merely wanted to +leave that sack in his care, to be delivered to the rightful owner when +he shall be found. I am a stranger; he does not know me; I am +merely passing through the town to-night to discharge a matter which +has been long in my mind. My errand is now completed, and I go +pleased and a little proud, and you will never see me again. There +is a paper attached to the sack which will explain everything. +Good-night, madam.”</p> +<p>The old lady was afraid of the mysterious big stranger, and was glad +to see him go. But her curiosity was roused, and she went straight +to the sack and brought away the paper. It began as follows:</p> +<blockquote><p>“TO BE PUBLISHED, or, the right man sought out +by private inquiry—either will answer. This sack contains +gold coin weighing a hundred and sixty pounds four ounces—”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>“Mercy on us, and the door not locked!”</p> +<p>Mrs. Richards flew to it all in a tremble and locked it, then pulled +down the window-shades and stood frightened, worried, and wondering +if there was anything else she could do toward making herself and the +money more safe. She listened awhile for burglars, then surrendered +to curiosity, and went back to the lamp and finished reading the paper:</p> +<blockquote><p>“I am a foreigner, and am presently going back +to my own country, to remain there permanently. I am grateful +to America for what I have received at her hands during my long stay +under her flag; and to one of her citizens—a citizen of Hadleyburg—I +am especially grateful for a great kindness done me a year or two ago. +Two great kindnesses in fact. I will explain. I was a gambler. +I say I WAS. I was a ruined gambler. I arrived in this village +at night, hungry and without a penny. I asked for help—in +the dark; I was ashamed to beg in the light. I begged of the right +man. He gave me twenty dollars—that is to say, he gave me +life, as I considered it. He also gave me fortune; for out of +that money I have made myself rich at the gaming-table. And finally, +a remark which he made to me has remained with me to this day, and has +at last conquered me; and in conquering has saved the remnant of my +morals: I shall gamble no more. Now I have no idea who that man +was, but I want him found, and I want him to have this money, to give +away, throw away, or keep, as he pleases. It is merely my way +of testifying my gratitude to him. If I could stay, I would find +him myself; but no matter, he will be found. This is an honest +town, an incorruptible town, and I know I can trust it without fear. +This man can be identified by the remark which he made to me; I feel +persuaded that he will remember it.</p> +<p>“And now my plan is this: If you prefer to conduct the inquiry +privately, do so. Tell the contents of this present writing to +any one who is likely to be the right man. If he shall answer, +‘I am the man; the remark I made was so-and-so,’ apply the +test—to wit: open the sack, and in it you will find a sealed envelope +containing that remark. If the remark mentioned by the candidate +tallies with it, give him the money, and ask no further questions, for +he is certainly the right man.</p> +<p>“But if you shall prefer a public inquiry, then publish this +present writing in the local paper—with these instructions added, +to wit: Thirty days from now, let the candidate appear at the town-hall +at eight in the evening (Friday), and hand his remark, in a sealed envelope, +to the Rev. Mr. Burgess (if he will be kind enough to act); and let +Mr. Burgess there and then destroy the seals of the sack, open it, and +see if the remark is correct: if correct, let the money be delivered, +with my sincere gratitude, to my benefactor thus identified.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Mrs. Richards sat down, gently quivering with excitement, and was +soon lost in thinkings—after this pattern: “What a strange +thing it is! ... And what a fortune for that kind man who set his +bread afloat upon the waters! ... If it had only been my husband that +did it!—for we are so poor, so old and poor! ...” +Then, with a sigh—“But it was not my Edward; no, it was +not he that gave a stranger twenty dollars. It is a pity too; +I see it now... ” Then, with a shudder—“But +it is <i>gamblers</i>’ money! the wages of sin; we couldn’t +take it; we couldn’t touch it. I don’t like to be +near it; it seems a defilement.” She moved to a farther +chair... “I wish Edward would come, and take it to the bank; +a burglar might come at any moment; it is dreadful to be here all alone +with it.”</p> +<p>At eleven Mr. Richards arrived, and while his wife was saying “I +am <i>so</i> glad you’ve come!” he was saying, “I +am so tired—tired clear out; it is dreadful to be poor, and have +to make these dismal journeys at my time of life. Always at the +grind, grind, grind, on a salary—another man’s slave, and +he sitting at home in his slippers, rich and comfortable.”</p> +<p>“I am so sorry for you, Edward, you know that; but be comforted; +we have our livelihood; we have our good name—”</p> +<p>“Yes, Mary, and that is everything. Don’t mind +my talk—it’s just a moment’s irritation and doesn’t +mean anything. Kiss me—there, it’s all gone now, and +I am not complaining any more. What have you been getting? +What’s in the sack?”</p> +<p>Then his wife told him the great secret. It dazed him for a +moment; then he said:</p> +<p>“It weighs a hundred and sixty pounds? Why, Mary, it’s +for-ty thou-sand dollars—think of it—a whole fortune! +Not ten men in this village are worth that much. Give me the paper.”</p> +<p>He skimmed through it and said:</p> +<p>“Isn’t it an adventure! Why, it’s a romance; +it’s like the impossible things one reads about in books, and +never sees in life.” He was well stirred up now; cheerful, +even gleeful. He tapped his old wife on the cheek, and said humorously, +“Why, we’re rich, Mary, rich; all we’ve got to do +is to bury the money and burn the papers. If the gambler ever +comes to inquire, we’ll merely look coldly upon him and say: ‘What +is this nonsense you are talking? We have never heard of you and +your sack of gold before;’ and then he would look foolish, and—”</p> +<p>“And in the meantime, while you are running on with your jokes, +the money is still here, and it is fast getting along toward burglar-time.”</p> +<p>“True. Very well, what shall we do—make the inquiry +private? No, not that; it would spoil the romance. The public +method is better. Think what a noise it will make! And it +will make all the other towns jealous; for no stranger would trust such +a thing to any town but Hadleyburg, and they know it. It’s +a great card for us. I must get to the printing-office now, or +I shall be too late.”</p> +<p>“But stop—stop—don’t leave me here alone +with it, Edward!”</p> +<p>But he was gone. For only a little while, however. Not +far from his own house he met the editor—proprietor of the paper, +and gave him the document, and said “Here is a good thing for +you, Cox—put it in.”</p> +<p>“It may be too late, Mr. Richards, but I’ll see.”</p> +<p>At home again, he and his wife sat down to talk the charming mystery +over; they were in no condition for sleep. The first question +was, Who could the citizen have been who gave the stranger the twenty +dollars? It seemed a simple one; both answered it in the same +breath—</p> +<p>“Barclay Goodson.”</p> +<p>“Yes,” said Richards, “he could have done it, and +it would have been like him, but there’s not another in the town.”</p> +<p>“Everybody will grant that, Edward—grant it privately, +anyway. For six months, now, the village has been its own proper +self once more—honest, narrow, self-righteous, and stingy.”</p> +<p>“It is what he always called it, to the day of his death—said +it right out publicly, too.”</p> +<p>“Yes, and he was hated for it.”</p> +<p>“Oh, of course; but he didn’t care. I reckon he +was the best-hated man among us, except the Reverend Burgess.”</p> +<p>“Well, Burgess deserves it—he will never get another +congregation here. Mean as the town is, it knows how to estimate +<i>him</i>. Edward, doesn’t it seem odd that the stranger +should appoint Burgess to deliver the money?”</p> +<p>“Well, yes—it does. That is—that is—”</p> +<p>“Why so much that-<i>is</i>-ing? Would <i>you</i> select +him?”</p> +<p>“Mary, maybe the stranger knows him better than this village +does.”</p> +<p>“Much <i>that</i> would help Burgess!”</p> +<p>The husband seemed perplexed for an answer; the wife kept a steady +eye upon him, and waited. Finally Richards said, with the hesitancy +of one who is making a statement which is likely to encounter doubt,</p> +<p>“Mary, Burgess is not a bad man.”</p> +<p>His wife was certainly surprised.</p> +<p>“Nonsense!” she exclaimed.</p> +<p>“He is not a bad man. I know. The whole of his +unpopularity had its foundation in that one thing—the thing that +made so much noise.”</p> +<p>“That ‘one thing,’ indeed! As if that ‘one +thing’ wasn’t enough, all by itself.”</p> +<p>“Plenty. Plenty. Only he wasn’t guilty of +it.”</p> +<p>“How you talk! Not guilty of it! Everybody knows +he <i>was</i> guilty.”</p> +<p>“Mary, I give you my word—he was innocent.”</p> +<p>“I can’t believe it and I don’t. How do you +know?”</p> +<p>“It is a confession. I am ashamed, but I will make it. +I was the only man who knew he was innocent. I could have saved +him, and—and—well, you know how the town was wrought up—I +hadn’t the pluck to do it. It would have turned everybody +against me. I felt mean, ever so mean; but I didn’t dare; +I hadn’t the manliness to face that.”</p> +<p>Mary looked troubled, and for a while was silent. Then she +said stammeringly:</p> +<p>“I—I don’t think it would have done for you to—to—One +mustn’t—er—public opinion—one has to be so careful—so—” +It was a difficult road, and she got mired; but after a little she got +started again. “It was a great pity, but—Why, we couldn’t +afford it, Edward—we couldn’t indeed. Oh, I wouldn’t +have had you do it for anything!”</p> +<p>“It would have lost us the good-will of so many people, Mary; +and then—and then—”</p> +<p>“What troubles me now is, what <i>he</i> thinks of us, Edward.”</p> +<p>“He? <i>He</i> doesn’t suspect that I could have +saved him.”</p> +<p>“Oh,” exclaimed the wife, in a tone of relief, “I +am glad of that. As long as he doesn’t know that you could +have saved him, he—he—well that makes it a great deal better. +Why, I might have known he didn’t know, because he is always trying +to be friendly with us, as little encouragement as we give him. +More than once people have twitted me with it. There’s the +Wilsons, and the Wilcoxes, and the Harknesses, they take a mean pleasure +in saying ‘<i>Your friend</i> Burgess,’ because they know +it pesters me. I wish he wouldn’t persist in liking us so; +I can’t think why he keeps it up.”</p> +<p>“I can explain it. It’s another confession. +When the thing was new and hot, and the town made a plan to ride him +on a rail, my conscience hurt me so that I couldn’t stand it, +and I went privately and gave him notice, and he got out of the town +and stayed out till it was safe to come back.”</p> +<p>“Edward! If the town had found it out—”</p> +<p>“<i>Don’t</i>! It scares me yet, to think of it. +I repented of it the minute it was done; and I was even afraid to tell +you lest your face might betray it to somebody. I didn’t +sleep any that night, for worrying. But after a few days I saw +that no one was going to suspect me, and after that I got to feeling +glad I did it. And I feel glad yet, Mary—glad through and +through.”</p> +<p>“So do I, now, for it would have been a dreadful way to treat +him. Yes, I’m glad; for really you did owe him that, you +know. But, Edward, suppose it should come out yet, some day!”</p> +<p>“It won’t.”</p> +<p>“Why?”</p> +<p>“Because everybody thinks it was Goodson.”</p> +<p>“Of course they would!”</p> +<p>“Certainly. And of course <i>he</i> didn’t care. +They persuaded poor old Sawlsberry to go and charge it on him, and he +went blustering over there and did it. Goodson looked him over, +like as if he was hunting for a place on him that he could despise the +most; then he says, ‘So you are the Committee of Inquiry, are +you?’ Sawlsberry said that was about what he was. +‘H’m. Do they require particulars, or do you reckon +a kind of a <i>general</i> answer will do?’ ‘If they +require particulars, I will come back, Mr. Goodson; I will take the +general answer first.’ ‘Very well, then, tell them +to go to hell—I reckon that’s general enough. And +I’ll give you some advice, Sawlsberry; when you come back for +the particulars, fetch a basket to carry what is left of yourself home +in.’”</p> +<p>“Just like Goodson; it’s got all the marks. He +had only one vanity; he thought he could give advice better than any +other person.”</p> +<p>“It settled the business, and saved us, Mary. The subject +was dropped.”</p> +<p>“Bless you, I’m not doubting <i>that</i>.”</p> +<p>Then they took up the gold-sack mystery again, with strong interest. +Soon the conversation began to suffer breaks—interruptions caused +by absorbed thinkings. The breaks grew more and more frequent. +At last Richards lost himself wholly in thought. He sat long, +gazing vacantly at the floor, and by-and-by he began to punctuate his +thoughts with little nervous movements of his hands that seemed to indicate +vexation. Meantime his wife too had relapsed into a thoughtful +silence, and her movements were beginning to show a troubled discomfort. +Finally Richards got up and strode aimlessly about the room, ploughing +his hands through his hair, much as a somnambulist might do who was +having a bad dream. Then he seemed to arrive at a definite purpose; +and without a word he put on his hat and passed quickly out of the house. +His wife sat brooding, with a drawn face, and did not seem to be aware +that she was alone. Now and then she murmured, “Lead us +not into t ... but—but—we are so poor, so poor! ... +Lead us not into.... Ah, who would be hurt by it?—and no one +would ever know.... Lead us.... ” The voice died out +in mumblings. After a little she glanced up and muttered in a +half-frightened, half-glad way—</p> +<p>“He is gone! But, oh dear, he may be too late—too +late.... Maybe not—maybe there is still time.” She +rose and stood thinking, nervously clasping and unclasping her hands. +A slight shudder shook her frame, and she said, out of a dry throat, +“God forgive me—it’s awful to think such things—but.... Lord, how we are made—how strangely we are made!”</p> +<p>She turned the light low, and slipped stealthily over and knelt down +by the sack and felt of its ridgy sides with her hands, and fondled +them lovingly; and there was a gloating light in her poor old eyes. +She fell into fits of absence; and came half out of them at times to +mutter “If we had only waited!—oh, if we had only waited +a little, and not been in such a hurry!”</p> +<p>Meantime Cox had gone home from his office and told his wife all +about the strange thing that had happened, and they had talked it over +eagerly, and guessed that the late Goodson was the only man in the town +who could have helped a suffering stranger with so noble a sum as twenty +dollars. Then there was a pause, and the two became thoughtful +and silent. And by-and-by nervous and fidgety. At last the +wife said, as if to herself,</p> +<p>“Nobody knows this secret but the Richardses ... and us ... nobody.”</p> +<p>The husband came out of his thinkings with a slight start, and gazed +wistfully at his wife, whose face was become very pale; then he hesitatingly +rose, and glanced furtively at his hat, then at his wife—a sort +of mute inquiry. Mrs. Cox swallowed once or twice, with her hand +at her throat, then in place of speech she nodded her head. In +a moment she was alone, and mumbling to herself.</p> +<p>And now Richards and Cox were hurrying through the deserted streets, +from opposite directions. They met, panting, at the foot of the +printing-office stairs; by the night-light there they read each other’s +face. Cox whispered:</p> +<p>“Nobody knows about this but us?”</p> +<p>The whispered answer was:</p> +<p>“Not a soul—on honour, not a soul!”</p> +<p>“If it isn’t too late to—”</p> +<p>The men were starting up-stairs; at this moment they were overtaken +by a boy, and Cox asked,</p> +<p>“Is that you, Johnny?”</p> +<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> +<p>“You needn’t ship the early mail—nor <i>any</i> +mail; wait till I tell you.”</p> +<p>“It’s already gone, sir.”</p> +<p>“<i>Gone</i>?” It had the sound of an unspeakable +disappointment in it.</p> +<p>“Yes, sir. Time-table for Brixton and all the towns beyond +changed to-day, sir—had to get the papers in twenty minutes earlier +than common. I had to rush; if I had been two minutes later—”</p> +<p>The men turned and walked slowly away, not waiting to hear the rest. +Neither of them spoke during ten minutes; then Cox said, in a vexed +tone,</p> +<p>“What possessed you to be in such a hurry, <i>I</i> can’t +make out.”</p> +<p>The answer was humble enough:</p> +<p>“I see it now, but somehow I never thought, you know, until +it was too late. But the next time—”</p> +<p>“Next time be hanged! It won’t come in a thousand +years.”</p> +<p>Then the friends separated without a good-night, and dragged themselves +home with the gait of mortally stricken men. At their homes their +wives sprang up with an eager “Well?”—then saw the +answer with their eyes and sank down sorrowing, without waiting for +it to come in words. In both houses a discussion followed of a +heated sort—a new thing; there had been discussions before, but +not heated ones, not ungentle ones. The discussions to-night were +a sort of seeming plagiarisms of each other. Mrs. Richards said:</p> +<p>“If you had only waited, Edward—if you had only stopped +to think; but no, you must run straight to the printing-office and spread +it all over the world.”</p> +<p>“It <i>said</i> publish it.”</p> +<p>“That is nothing; it also said do it privately, if you liked. +There, now—is that true, or not?”</p> +<p>“Why, yes—yes, it is true; but when I thought what a +stir it would make, and what a compliment it was to Hadleyburg that +a stranger should trust it so—”</p> +<p>“Oh, certainly, I know all that; but if you had only stopped +to think, you would have seen that you <i>couldn’t</i> find the +right man, because he is in his grave, and hasn’t left chick nor +child nor relation behind him; and as long as the money went to somebody +that awfully needed it, and nobody would be hurt by it, and—and—”</p> +<p>She broke down, crying. Her husband tried to think of some +comforting thing to say, and presently came out with this:</p> +<p>“But after all, Mary, it must be for the best—it must +be; we know that. And we must remember that it was so ordered—”</p> +<p>“Ordered! Oh, everything’s <i>ordered</i>, when +a person has to find some way out when he has been stupid. Just the +same, it was <i>ordered</i> that the money should come to us in this +special way, and it was you that must take it on yourself to go meddling +with the designs of Providence—and who gave you the right? +It was wicked, that is what it was—just blasphemous presumption, +and no more becoming to a meek and humble professor of—”</p> +<p>“But, Mary, you know how we have been trained all our lives +long, like the whole village, till it is absolutely second nature to +us to stop not a single moment to think when there’s an honest +thing to be done—”</p> +<p>“Oh, I know it, I know it—it’s been one everlasting +training and training and training in honesty—honesty shielded, +from the very cradle, against every possible temptation, and so it’s +<i>artificial</i> honesty, and weak as water when temptation comes, +as we have seen this night. God knows I never had shade nor shadow +of a doubt of my petrified and indestructible honesty until now—and +now, under the very first big and real temptation, I—Edward, it +is my belief that this town’s honesty is as rotten as mine is; +as rotten as yours. It is a mean town, a hard, stingy town, and +hasn’t a virtue in the world but this honesty it is so celebrated +for and so conceited about; and so help me, I do believe that if ever +the day comes that its honesty falls under great temptation, its grand +reputation will go to ruin like a house of cards. There, now, +I’ve made confession, and I feel better; I am a humbug, and I’ve +been one all my life, without knowing it. Let no man call me honest +again—I will not have it.”</p> +<p>“I—Well, Mary, I feel a good deal as you do: I certainly +do. It seems strange, too, so strange. I never could have +believed it—never.”</p> +<p>A long silence followed; both were sunk in thought. At last +the wife looked up and said:</p> +<p>“I know what you are thinking, Edward.”</p> +<p>Richards had the embarrassed look of a person who is caught.</p> +<p>“I am ashamed to confess it, Mary, but—”</p> +<p>“It’s no matter, Edward, I was thinking the same question +myself.”</p> +<p>“I hope so. State it.”</p> +<p>“You were thinking, if a body could only guess out <i>what +the remark was</i> that Goodson made to the stranger.”</p> +<p>“It’s perfectly true. I feel guilty and ashamed. +And you?”</p> +<p>“I’m past it. Let us make a pallet here; we’ve +got to stand watch till the bank vault opens in the morning and admits +the sack... Oh dear, oh dear—if we hadn’t made the mistake!”</p> +<p>The pallet was made, and Mary said:</p> +<p>“The open sesame—what could it have been? I do +wonder what that remark could have been. But come; we will get +to bed now.”</p> +<p>“And sleep?”</p> +<p>“No; think.”</p> +<p>“Yes; think.”</p> +<p>By this time the Coxes too had completed their spat and their reconciliation, +and were turning in—to think, to think, and toss, and fret, and +worry over what the remark could possibly have been which Goodson made +to the stranded derelict; that golden remark; that remark worth forty +thousand dollars, cash.</p> +<p>The reason that the village telegraph-office was open later than +usual that night was this: The foreman of Cox’s paper was the +local representative of the Associated Press. One might say its +honorary representative, for it wasn’t four times a year that +he could furnish thirty words that would be accepted. But this +time it was different. His despatch stating what he had caught +got an instant answer:</p> +<blockquote><p>“Send the whole thing—all the details—twelve +hundred words.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>A colossal order! The foreman filled the bill; and he was the +proudest man in the State. By breakfast-time the next morning +the name of Hadleyburg the Incorruptible was on every lip in America, +from Montreal to the Gulf, from the glaciers of Alaska to the orange-groves +of Florida; and millions and millions of people were discussing the +stranger and his money-sack, and wondering if the right man would be +found, and hoping some more news about the matter would come soon—right +away.</p> +<h2>II.</h2> +<p>Hadleyburg village woke up world-celebrated—astonished—happy—vain. +Vain beyond imagination. Its nineteen principal citizens and their +wives went about shaking hands with each other, and beaming, and smiling, +and congratulating, and saying <i>this</i> thing adds a new word to +the dictionary—<i>Hadleyburg</i>, synonym for <i>incorruptible</i>—destined +to live in dictionaries for ever! And the minor and unimportant +citizens and their wives went around acting in much the same way. +Everybody ran to the bank to see the gold-sack; and before noon grieved +and envious crowds began to flock in from Brixton and all neighbouring +towns; and that afternoon and next day reporters began to arrive from +everywhere to verify the sack and its history and write the whole thing +up anew, and make dashing free-hand pictures of the sack, and of Richards’s +house, and the bank, and the Presbyterian church, and the Baptist church, +and the public square, and the town-hall where the test would be applied +and the money delivered; and damnable portraits of the Richardses, and +Pinkerton the banker, and Cox, and the foreman, and Reverend Burgess, +and the postmaster—and even of Jack Halliday, who was the loafing, +good-natured, no-account, irreverent fisherman, hunter, boys’ +friend, stray-dogs’ friend, typical “Sam Lawson” of +the town. The little mean, smirking, oily Pinkerton showed the +sack to all comers, and rubbed his sleek palms together pleasantly, +and enlarged upon the town’s fine old reputation for honesty and +upon this wonderful endorsement of it, and hoped and believed that the +example would now spread far and wide over the American world, and be +epoch-making in the matter of moral regeneration. And so on, and +so on.</p> +<p>By the end of a week things had quieted down again; the wild intoxication +of pride and joy had sobered to a soft, sweet, silent delight—a +sort of deep, nameless, unutterable content. All faces bore a +look of peaceful, holy happiness.</p> +<p>Then a change came. It was a gradual change; so gradual that +its beginnings were hardly noticed; maybe were not noticed at all, except +by Jack Halliday, who always noticed everything; and always made fun +of it, too, no matter what it was. He began to throw out chaffing +remarks about people not looking quite so happy as they did a day or +two ago; and next he claimed that the new aspect was deepening to positive +sadness; next, that it was taking on a sick look; and finally he said +that everybody was become so moody, thoughtful, and absent-minded that +he could rob the meanest man in town of a cent out of the bottom of +his breeches pocket and not disturb his reverie.</p> +<p>At this stage—or at about this stage—a saying like this +was dropped at bedtime—with a sigh, usually—by the head +of each of the nineteen principal households:</p> +<p>“Ah, what <i>could</i> have been the remark that Goodson made?”</p> +<p>And straightway—with a shudder—came this, from the man’s +wife:</p> +<p>“Oh, <i>don’t</i>! What horrible thing are you +mulling in your mind? Put it away from you, for God’s sake!”</p> +<p>But that question was wrung from those men again the next night—and +got the same retort. But weaker.</p> +<p>And the third night the men uttered the question yet again—with +anguish, and absently. This time—and the following night—the +wives fidgeted feebly, and tried to say something. But didn’t.</p> +<p>And the night after that they found their tongues and responded—longingly:</p> +<p>“Oh, if we <i>could</i> only guess!”</p> +<p>Halliday’s comments grew daily more and more sparklingly disagreeable +and disparaging. He went diligently about, laughing at the town, +individually and in mass. But his laugh was the only one left +in the village: it fell upon a hollow and mournful vacancy and emptiness. +Not even a smile was findable anywhere. Halliday carried a cigar-box +around on a tripod, playing that it was a camera, and halted all passers +and aimed the thing and said “Ready!—now look pleasant, +please,” but not even this capital joke could surprise the dreary +faces into any softening.</p> +<p>So three weeks passed—one week was left. It was Saturday +evening after supper. Instead of the aforetime Saturday-evening +flutter and bustle and shopping and larking, the streets were empty +and desolate. Richards and his old wife sat apart in their little +parlour—miserable and thinking. This was become their evening +habit now: the life-long habit which had preceded it, of reading, knitting, +and contented chat, or receiving or paying neighbourly calls, was dead +and gone and forgotten, ages ago—two or three weeks ago; nobody +talked now, nobody read, nobody visited—the whole village sat +at home, sighing, worrying, silent. Trying to guess out that remark.</p> +<p>The postman left a letter. Richards glanced listlessly at the +superscription and the post-mark—unfamiliar, both—and tossed +the letter on the table and resumed his might-have-beens and his hopeless +dull miseries where he had left them off. Two or three hours later +his wife got wearily up and was going away to bed without a good-night—custom +now—but she stopped near the letter and eyed it awhile with a +dead interest, then broke it open, and began to skim it over. +Richards, sitting there with his chair tilted back against the wall +and his chin between his knees, heard something fall. It was his +wife. He sprang to her side, but she cried out:</p> +<p>“Leave me alone, I am too happy. Read the letter—read +it!”</p> +<p>He did. He devoured it, his brain reeling. The letter +was from a distant State, and it said:</p> +<blockquote><p>“I am a stranger to you, but no matter: I have +something to tell. I have just arrived home from Mexico, and learned +about that episode. Of course you do not know who made that remark, +but I know, and I am the only person living who does know. It +was GOODSON. I knew him well, many years ago. I passed through +your village that very night, and was his guest till the midnight train +came along. I overheard him make that remark to the stranger in +the dark—it was in Hale Alley. He and I talked of it the +rest of the way home, and while smoking in his house. He mentioned +many of your villagers in the course of his talk—most of them +in a very uncomplimentary way, but two or three favourably: among these +latter yourself. I say ‘favourably’—nothing +stronger. I remember his saying he did not actually LIKE any person +in the town—not one; but that you—I THINK he said you—am +almost sure—had done him a very great service once, possibly without +knowing the full value of it, and he wished he had a fortune, he would +leave it to you when he died, and a curse apiece for the rest of the +citizens. Now, then, if it was you that did him that service, +you are his legitimate heir, and entitled to the sack of gold. +I know that I can trust to your honour and honesty, for in a citizen +of Hadleyburg these virtues are an unfailing inheritance, and so I am +going to reveal to you the remark, well satisfied that if you are not +the right man you will seek and find the right one and see that poor +Goodson’s debt of gratitude for the service referred to is paid. +This is the remark ‘YOU ARE FAR FROM BEING A BAD MAN: GO, AND +REFORM.’</p> +<p>“HOWARD L. STEPHENSON.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>“Oh, Edward, the money is ours, and I am so grateful, <i>oh</i>, +so grateful,—kiss me, dear, it’s for ever since we kissed—and +we needed it so—the money—and now you are free of Pinkerton +and his bank, and nobody’s slave any more; it seems to me I could +fly for joy.”</p> +<p>It was a happy half-hour that the couple spent there on the settee +caressing each other; it was the old days come again—days that +had begun with their courtship and lasted without a break till the stranger +brought the deadly money. By-and-by the wife said:</p> +<p>“Oh, Edward, how lucky it was you did him that grand service, +poor Goodson! I never liked him, but I love him now. And +it was fine and beautiful of you never to mention it or brag about it.” +Then, with a touch of reproach, “But you ought to have told <i>me</i>, +Edward, you ought to have told your wife, you know.”</p> +<p>“Well, I—er—well, Mary, you see—”</p> +<p>“Now stop hemming and hawing, and tell me about it, Edward. +I always loved you, and now I’m proud of you. Everybody +believes there was only one good generous soul in this village, and +now it turns out that you—Edward, why don’t you tell me?”</p> +<p>“Well—er—er—Why, Mary, I can’t!”</p> +<p>“You <i>can’t</i>? <i>Why</i> can’t you?”</p> +<p>“You see, he—well, he—he made me promise I wouldn’t.”</p> +<p>The wife looked him over, and said, very slowly:</p> +<p>“Made—you—promise? Edward, what do you tell +me that for?”</p> +<p>“Mary, do you think I would lie?”</p> +<p>She was troubled and silent for a moment, then she laid her hand +within his and said:</p> +<p>“No ... no. We have wandered far enough from our bearings—God +spare us that! In all your life you have never uttered a lie. +But now—now that the foundations of things seem to be crumbling +from under us, we—we—” She lost her voice for +a moment, then said, brokenly, “Lead us not into temptation. . +. I think you made the promise, Edward. Let it rest so. +Let us keep away from that ground. Now—that is all gone +by; let us he happy again; it is no time for clouds.”</p> +<p>Edward found it something of an effort to comply, for his mind kept +wandering—trying to remember what the service was that he had +done Goodson.</p> +<p>The couple lay awake the most of the night, Mary happy and busy, +Edward busy, but not so happy. Mary was planning what she would +do with the money. Edward was trying to recall that service. +At first his conscience was sore on account of the lie he had told Mary—if +it was a lie. After much reflection—suppose it <i>was</i> +a lie? What then? Was it such a great matter? Aren’t +we always <i>acting</i> lies? Then why not tell them? Look +at Mary—look what she had done. While he was hurrying off +on his honest errand, what was she doing? Lamenting because the +papers hadn’t been destroyed and the money kept. Is theft +better than lying?</p> +<p><i>That</i> point lost its sting—the lie dropped into the background +and left comfort behind it. The next point came to the front: +<i>had</i> he rendered that service? Well, here was Goodson’s +own evidence as reported in Stephenson’s letter; there could be +no better evidence than that—it was even <i>proof</i> that he +had rendered it. Of course. So that point was settled. . +. No, not quite. He recalled with a wince that this unknown Mr. +Stephenson was just a trifle unsure as to whether the performer of it +was Richards or some other—and, oh dear, he had put Richards on +his honour! He must himself decide whither that money must go—and +Mr. Stephenson was not doubting that if he was the wrong man he would +go honourably and find the right one. Oh, it was odious to put +a man in such a situation—ah, why couldn’t Stephenson have +left out that doubt? What did he want to intrude that for?</p> +<p>Further reflection. How did it happen that <i>Richards’s</i> +name remained in Stephenson’s mind as indicating the right man, +and not some other man’s name? That looked good. Yes, +that looked very good. In fact it went on looking better and better, +straight along—until by-and-by it grew into positive <i>proof</i>. +And then Richards put the matter at once out of his mind, for he had +a private instinct that a proof once established is better left so.</p> +<p>He was feeling reasonably comfortable now, but there was still one +other detail that kept pushing itself on his notice: of course he had +done that service—that was settled; but what <i>was</i> that service? +He must recall it—he would not go to sleep till he had recalled +it; it would make his peace of mind perfect. And so he thought +and thought. He thought of a dozen things—possible services, +even probable services—but none of them seemed adequate, none +of them seemed large enough, none of them seemed worth the money—worth +the fortune Goodson had wished he could leave in his will. And +besides, he couldn’t remember having done them, anyway. +Now, then—now, then—what <i>kind</i> of a service would +it be that would make a man so inordinately grateful? Ah—the +saving of his soul! That must be it. Yes, he could remember, +now, how he once set himself the task of converting Goodson, and laboured +at it as much as—he was going to say three months; but upon closer +examination it shrunk to a month, then to a week, then to a day, then +to nothing. Yes, he remembered now, and with unwelcome vividness, +that Goodson had told him to go to thunder and mind his own business—<i>he</i> +wasn’t hankering to follow Hadleyburg to heaven!</p> +<p>So that solution was a failure—he hadn’t saved Goodson’s +soul. Richards was discouraged. Then after a little came +another idea: had he saved Goodson’s property? No, that +wouldn’t do—he hadn’t any. His life? That +is it! Of course. Why, he might have thought of it before. +This time he was on the right track, sure. His imagination-mill +was hard at work in a minute, now.</p> +<p>Thereafter, during a stretch of two exhausting hours, he was busy +saving Goodson’s life. He saved it in all kinds of difficult +and perilous ways. In every case he got it saved satisfactorily +up to a certain point; then, just as he was beginning to get well persuaded +that it had really happened, a troublesome detail would turn up which +made the whole thing impossible. As in the matter of drowning, +for instance. In that case he had swum out and tugged Goodson +ashore in an unconscious state with a great crowd looking on and applauding, +but when he had got it all thought out and was just beginning to remember +all about it, a whole swarm of disqualifying details arrived on the +ground: the town would have known of the circumstance, Mary would have +known of it, it would glare like a limelight in his own memory instead +of being an inconspicuous service which he had possibly rendered “without +knowing its full value.” And at this point he remembered +that he couldn’t swim anyway.</p> +<p>Ah—<i>there</i> was a point which he had been overlooking from +the start: it had to be a service which he had rendered “possibly +without knowing the full value of it.” Why, really, that +ought to be an easy hunt—much easier than those others. +And sure enough, by-and-by he found it. Goodson, years and years +ago, came near marrying a very sweet and pretty girl, named Nancy Hewitt, +but in some way or other the match had been broken off; the girl died, +Goodson remained a bachelor, and by-and-by became a soured one and a +frank despiser of the human species. Soon after the girl’s +death the village found out, or thought it had found out, that she carried +a spoonful of negro blood in her veins. Richards worked at these +details a good while, and in the end he thought he remembered things +concerning them which must have gotten mislaid in his memory through +long neglect. He seemed to dimly remember that it was <i>he</i> +that found out about the negro blood; that it was he that told the village; +that the village told Goodson where they got it; that he thus saved +Goodson from marrying the tainted girl; that he had done him this great +service “without knowing the full value of it,” in fact +without knowing that he <i>was</i> doing it; but that Goodson knew the +value of it, and what a narrow escape he had had, and so went to his +grave grateful to his benefactor and wishing he had a fortune to leave +him. It was all clear and simple, now, and the more he went over +it the more luminous and certain it grew; and at last, when he nestled +to sleep, satisfied and happy, he remembered the whole thing just as +if it had been yesterday. In fact, he dimly remembered Goodson’s +<i>telling</i> him his gratitude once. Meantime Mary had spent +six thousand dollars on a new house for herself and a pair of slippers +for her pastor, and then had fallen peacefully to rest.</p> +<p>That same Saturday evening the postman had delivered a letter to +each of the other principal citizens—nineteen letters in all. +No two of the envelopes were alike, and no two of the superscriptions +were in the same hand, but the letters inside were just like each other +in every detail but one. They were exact copies of the letter +received by Richards—handwriting and all—and were all signed +by Stephenson, but in place of Richards’s name each receiver’s +own name appeared.</p> +<p>All night long eighteen principal citizens did what their caste-brother +Richards was doing at the same time—they put in their energies +trying to remember what notable service it was that they had unconsciously +done Barclay Goodson. In no case was it a holiday job; still they +succeeded.</p> +<p>And while they were at this work, which was difficult, their wives +put in the night spending the money, which was easy. During that +one night the nineteen wives spent an average of seven thousand dollars +each out of the forty thousand in the sack—a hundred and thirty-three +thousand altogether.</p> +<p>Next day there was a surprise for Jack Halliday. He noticed +that the faces of the nineteen chief citizens and their wives bore that +expression of peaceful and holy happiness again. He could not +understand it, neither was he able to invent any remarks about it that +could damage it or disturb it. And so it was his turn to be dissatisfied +with life. His private guesses at the reasons for the happiness +failed in all instances, upon examination. When he met Mrs. Wilcox +and noticed the placid ecstasy in her face, he said to himself, “Her +cat has had kittens”—and went and asked the cook; it was +not so, the cook had detected the happiness, but did not know the cause. +When Halliday found the duplicate ecstasy in the face of “Shadbelly” +Billson (village nickname), he was sure some neighbour of Billson’s +had broken his leg, but inquiry showed that this had not happened. +The subdued ecstasy in Gregory Yates’s face could mean but one +thing—he was a mother-in-law short; it was another mistake. +“And Pinkerton—Pinkerton—he has collected ten cents +that he thought he was going to lose.” And so on, and so +on. In some cases the guesses had to remain in doubt, in the others +they proved distinct errors. In the end Halliday said to himself, +“Anyway it roots up that there’s nineteen Hadleyburg families +temporarily in heaven: I don’t know how it happened; I only know +Providence is off duty to-day.”</p> +<p>An architect and builder from the next State had lately ventured +to set up a small business in this unpromising village, and his sign +had now been hanging out a week. Not a customer yet; he was a +discouraged man, and sorry he had come. But his weather changed +suddenly now. First one and then another chief citizen’s +wife said to him privately:</p> +<p>“Come to my house Monday week—but say nothing about it +for the present. We think of building.”</p> +<p>He got eleven invitations that day. That night he wrote his +daughter and broke off her match with her student. He said she +could marry a mile higher than that.</p> +<p>Pinkerton the banker and two or three other well-to-do men planned +country-seats—but waited. That kind don’t count their +chickens until they are hatched.</p> +<p>The Wilsons devised a grand new thing—a fancy-dress ball. +They made no actual promises, but told all their acquaintanceship in +confidence that they were thinking the matter over and thought they +should give it—“and if we do, you will be invited, of course.” +People were surprised, and said, one to another, “Why, they are +crazy, those poor Wilsons, they can’t afford it.” +Several among the nineteen said privately to their husbands, “It +is a good idea, we will keep still till their cheap thing is over, then +<i>we</i> will give one that will make it sick.”</p> +<p>The days drifted along, and the bill of future squanderings rose +higher and higher, wilder and wilder, more and more foolish and reckless. +It began to look as if every member of the nineteen would not only spend +his whole forty thousand dollars before receiving-day, but be actually +in debt by the time he got the money. In some cases light-headed +people did not stop with planning to spend, they really spent—on +credit. They bought land, mortgages, farms, speculative stocks, +fine clothes, horses, and various other things, paid down the bonus, +and made themselves liable for the rest—at ten days. Presently +the sober second thought came, and Halliday noticed that a ghastly anxiety +was beginning to show up in a good many faces. Again he was puzzled, +and didn’t know what to make of it. “The Wilcox kittens +aren’t dead, for they weren’t born; nobody’s broken +a leg; there’s no shrinkage in mother-in-laws; <i>nothing</i> +has happened—it is an insolvable mystery.”</p> +<p>There was another puzzled man, too—the Rev. Mr. Burgess. +For days, wherever he went, people seemed to follow him or to be watching +out for him; and if he ever found himself in a retired spot, a member +of the nineteen would be sure to appear, thrust an envelope privately +into his hand, whisper “To be opened at the town-hall Friday evening,” +then vanish away like a guilty thing. He was expecting that there +might be one claimant for the sack—doubtful, however, Goodson +being dead—but it never occurred to him that all this crowd might +be claimants. When the great Friday came at last, he found that +he had nineteen envelopes.</p> +<h2>III.</h2> +<p>The town-hall had never looked finer. The platform at the end +of it was backed by a showy draping of flags; at intervals along the +walls were festoons of flags; the gallery fronts were clothed in flags; +the supporting columns were swathed in flags; all this was to impress +the stranger, for he would be there in considerable force, and in a +large degree he would be connected with the press. The house was +full. The 412 fixed seats were occupied; also the 68 extra chairs +which had been packed into the aisles; the steps of the platform were +occupied; some distinguished strangers were given seats on the platform; +at the horseshoe of tables which fenced the front and sides of the platform +sat a strong force of special correspondents who had come from everywhere. +It was the best-dressed house the town had ever produced. There +were some tolerably expensive toilets there, and in several cases the +ladies who wore them had the look of being unfamiliar with that kind +of clothes. At least the town thought they had that look, but +the notion could have arisen from the town’s knowledge of the +fact that these ladies had never inhabited such clothes before.</p> +<p>The gold-sack stood on a little table at the front of the platform +where all the house could see it. The bulk of the house gazed +at it with a burning interest, a mouth-watering interest, a wistful +and pathetic interest; a minority of nineteen couples gazed at it tenderly, +lovingly, proprietarily, and the male half of this minority kept saying +over to themselves the moving little impromptu speeches of thankfulness +for the audience’s applause and congratulations which they were +presently going to get up and deliver. Every now and then one +of these got a piece of paper out of his vest pocket and privately glanced +at it to refresh his memory.</p> +<p>Of course there was a buzz of conversation going on—there always +is; but at last, when the Rev. Mr. Burgess rose and laid his hand on +the sack, he could hear his microbes gnaw, the place was so still. +He related the curious history of the sack, then went on to speak in +warm terms of Hadleyburg’s old and well-earned reputation for +spotless honesty, and of the town’s just pride in this reputation. +He said that this reputation was a treasure of priceless value; that +under Providence its value had now become inestimably enhanced, for +the recent episode had spread this fame far and wide, and thus had focussed +the eyes of the American world upon this village, and made its name +for all time, as he hoped and believed, a synonym for commercial incorruptibility. +[Applause.] “And who is to be the guardian of this noble +fame—the community as a whole? No! The responsibility +is individual, not communal. From this day forth each and every +one of you is in his own person its special guardian, and individually +responsible that no harm shall come to it. Do you—does each +of you—accept this great trust? [Tumultuous assent.] +Then all is well. Transmit it to your children and to your children’s +children. To-day your purity is beyond reproach—see to it +that it shall remain so. To-day there is not a person in your +community who could be beguiled to touch a penny not his own—see +to it that you abide in this grace. [“We will! we will!”] +This is not the place to make comparisons between ourselves and other +communities—some of them ungracious towards us; they have their +ways, we have ours; let us be content. [Applause.] I am +done. Under my hand, my friends, rests a stranger’s eloquent +recognition of what we are; through him the world will always henceforth +know what we are. We do not know who he is, but in your name I +utter your gratitude, and ask you to raise your voices in indorsement.”</p> +<p>The house rose in a body and made the walls quake with the thunders +of its thankfulness for the space of a long minute. Then it sat +down, and Mr. Burgess took an envelope out of his pocket. The +house held its breath while he slit the envelope open and took from +it a slip of paper. He read its contents—slowly and impressively—the +audience listening with tranced attention to this magic document, each +of whose words stood for an ingot of gold:</p> +<p>“‘The remark which I made to the distressed stranger +was this: “You are very far from being a bad man; go, and reform.”’” +Then he continued:—“We shall know in a moment now whether +the remark here quoted corresponds with the one concealed in the sack; +and if that shall prove to be so—and it undoubtedly will—this +sack of gold belongs to a fellow-citizen who will henceforth stand before +the nation as the symbol of the special virtue which has made our town +famous throughout the land—Mr. Billson!”</p> +<p>The house had gotten itself all ready to burst into the proper tornado +of applause; but instead of doing it, it seemed stricken with a paralysis; +there was a deep hush for a moment or two, then a wave of whispered +murmurs swept the place—of about this tenor: “<i>Billson</i>! +oh, come, this is <i>too</i> thin! Twenty dollars to a stranger—or +<i>anybody</i>—<i>Billson</i>! Tell it to the marines!” +And now at this point the house caught its breath all of a sudden in +a new access of astonishment, for it discovered that whereas in one +part of the hall Deacon Billson was standing up with his head meekly +bowed, in another part of it Lawyer Wilson was doing the same. +There was a wondering silence now for a while. Everybody was puzzled, +and nineteen couples were surprised and indignant.</p> +<p>Billson and Wilson turned and stared at each other. Billson +asked, bitingly:</p> +<p>“Why do <i>you</i> rise, Mr. Wilson?”</p> +<p>“Because I have a right to. Perhaps you will be good +enough to explain to the house why <i>you</i> rise.”</p> +<p>“With great pleasure. Because I wrote that paper.”</p> +<p>“It is an impudent falsity! I wrote it myself.”</p> +<p>It was Burgess’s turn to be paralysed. He stood looking +vacantly at first one of the men and then the other, and did not seem +to know what to do. The house was stupefied. Lawyer Wilson +spoke up now, and said:</p> +<p>“I ask the Chair to read the name signed to that paper.”</p> +<p>That brought the Chair to itself, and it read out the name:</p> +<p>“John Wharton <i>Billson</i>.”</p> +<p>“There!” shouted Billson, “what have you got to +say for yourself now? And what kind of apology are you going to +make to me and to this insulted house for the imposture which you have +attempted to play here?”</p> +<p>“No apologies are due, sir; and as for the rest of it, I publicly +charge you with pilfering my note from Mr. Burgess and substituting +a copy of it signed with your own name. There is no other way +by which you could have gotten hold of the test-remark; I alone, of +living men, possessed the secret of its wording.”</p> +<p>There was likely to be a scandalous state of things if this went +on; everybody noticed with distress that the shorthand scribes were +scribbling like mad; many people were crying “Chair, chair! +Order! order!” Burgess rapped with his gavel, and said:</p> +<p>“Let us not forget the proprieties due. There has evidently +been a mistake somewhere, but surely that is all. If Mr. Wilson +gave me an envelope—and I remember now that he did—I still +have it.”</p> +<p>He took one out of his pocket, opened it, glanced at it, looked surprised +and worried, and stood silent a few moments. Then he waved his +hand in a wandering and mechanical way, and made an effort or two to +say something, then gave it up, despondently. Several voices cried +out:</p> +<p>“Read it! read it! What is it?”</p> +<p>So he began, in a dazed and sleep-walker fashion:</p> +<p>“‘The remark which I made to the unhappy stranger was +this: “You are far from being a bad man. [The house gazed +at him marvelling.] Go, and reform.”’ [Murmurs: +“Amazing! what can this mean?”] This one,” said +the Chair, “is signed Thurlow G. Wilson.”</p> +<p>“There!” cried Wilson, “I reckon that settles it! +I knew perfectly well my note was purloined.”</p> +<p>“Purloined!” retorted Billson. “I’ll +let you know that neither you nor any man of your kidney must venture +to—”</p> +<p>The Chair: “Order, gentlemen, order! Take your seats, +both of you, please.”</p> +<p>They obeyed, shaking their heads and grumbling angrily. The +house was profoundly puzzled; it did not know what to do with this curious +emergency. Presently Thompson got up. Thompson was the hatter. +He would have liked to be a Nineteener; but such was not for him; his +stock of hats was not considerable enough for the position. He +said:</p> +<p>“Mr. Chairman, if I may be permitted to make a suggestion, +can both of these gentlemen be right? I put it to you, sir, can +both have happened to say the very same words to the stranger? +It seems to me—”</p> +<p>The tanner got up and interrupted him. The tanner was a disgruntled +man; he believed himself entitled to be a Nineteener, but he couldn’t +get recognition. It made him a little unpleasant in his ways and +speech. Said he:</p> +<p>“Sho, <i>that’s</i> not the point! <i>That</i> +could happen—twice in a hundred years—but not the other +thing. <i>Neither</i> of them gave the twenty dollars!” +[A ripple of applause.]</p> +<p>Billson. “I did!”</p> +<p>Wilson. “I did!”</p> +<p>Then each accused the other of pilfering.</p> +<p>The Chair. “Order! Sit down, if you please—both +of you. Neither of the notes has been out of my possession at +any moment.”</p> +<p>A Voice. “Good—that settles <i>that</i>!”</p> +<p>The Tanner. “Mr. Chairman, one thing is now plain: one +of these men has been eavesdropping under the other one’s bed, +and filching family secrets. If it is not unparliamentary to suggest +it, I will remark that both are equal to it. [The Chair. +“Order! order!”] I withdraw the remark, sir, and will +confine myself to suggesting that <i>if</i> one of them has overheard +the other reveal the test-remark to his wife, we shall catch him now.”</p> +<p>A Voice. “How?”</p> +<p>The Tanner. “Easily. The two have not quoted the +remark in exactly the same words. You would have noticed that, +if there hadn’t been a considerable stretch of time and an exciting +quarrel inserted between the two readings.”</p> +<p>A Voice. “Name the difference.”</p> +<p>The Tanner. “The word <i>very</i> is in Billson’s +note, and not in the other.”</p> +<p>Many Voices. “That’s so—he’s right!”</p> +<p>The Tanner. “And so, if the Chair will examine the test-remark +in the sack, we shall know which of these two frauds—[The Chair. +“Order!”]—which of these two adventurers—[The +Chair. “Order! order!”]—which of these two gentlemen—[laughter +and applause]—is entitled to wear the belt as being the first +dishonest blatherskite ever bred in this town—which he has dishonoured, +and which will be a sultry place for him from now out!” +[Vigorous applause.]</p> +<p>Many Voices. “Open it!—open the sack!”</p> +<p>Mr. Burgess made a slit in the sack, slid his hand in, and brought +out an envelope. In it were a couple of folded notes. He +said:</p> +<p>“One of these is marked, ‘Not to be examined until all +written communications which have been addressed to the Chair—if +any—shall have been read.’ The other is marked ‘<i>The +Test</i>.’ Allow me. It is worded—to wit:</p> +<p>“‘I do not require that the first half of the remark +which was made to me by my benefactor shall be quoted with exactness, +for it was not striking, and could be forgotten; but its closing fifteen +words are quite striking, and I think easily rememberable; unless <i>these</i> +shall be accurately reproduced, let the applicant be regarded as an +impostor. My benefactor began by saying he seldom gave advice +to anyone, but that it always bore the hall-mark of high value when +he did give it. Then he said this—and it has never faded +from my memory: ‘<i>You are far from being a bad man</i>—’’”</p> +<p>Fifty Voices. “That settles it—the money’s +Wilson’s! Wilson! Wilson! Speech! Speech!”</p> +<p>People jumped up and crowded around Wilson, wringing his hand and +congratulating fervently—meantime the Chair was hammering with +the gavel and shouting:</p> +<p>“Order, gentlemen! Order! Order! Let me finish +reading, please.” When quiet was restored, the reading was +resumed—as follows:</p> +<p>“‘<i>Go, and reform—or, mark my words—some +day, for your sins you will die and go to hell or Hadleyburg</i>—TRY +AND MAKE IT THE FORMER.’”</p> +<p>A ghastly silence followed. First an angry cloud began to settle +darkly upon the faces of the citizenship; after a pause the cloud began +to rise, and a tickled expression tried to take its place; tried so +hard that it was only kept under with great and painful difficulty; +the reporters, the Brixtonites, and other strangers bent their heads +down and shielded their faces with their hands, and managed to hold +in by main strength and heroic courtesy. At this most inopportune +time burst upon the stillness the roar of a solitary voice—Jack +Halliday’s:</p> +<p>“<i>That’s</i> got the hall-mark on it!”</p> +<p>Then the house let go, strangers and all. Even Mr. Burgess’s +gravity broke down presently, then the audience considered itself officially +absolved from all restraint, and it made the most of its privilege. +It was a good long laugh, and a tempestuously wholehearted one, but +it ceased at last—long enough for Mr. Burgess to try to resume, +and for the people to get their eyes partially wiped; then it broke +out again, and afterward yet again; then at last Burgess was able to +get out these serious words:</p> +<p>“It is useless to try to disguise the fact—we find ourselves +in the presence of a matter of grave import. It involves the honour +of your town—it strikes at the town’s good name. The +difference of a single word between the test-remarks offered by Mr. +Wilson and Mr. Billson was itself a serious thing, since it indicated +that one or the other of these gentlemen had committed a theft—”</p> +<p>The two men were sitting limp, nerveless, crushed; but at these words +both were electrified into movement, and started to get up.</p> +<p>“Sit down!” said the Chair, sharply, and they obeyed. +“That, as I have said, was a serious thing. And it was—but +for only one of them. But the matter has become graver; for the +honour of <i>both</i> is now in formidable peril. Shall I go even +further, and say in inextricable peril? <i>Both</i> left out the +crucial fifteen words.” He paused. During several +moments he allowed the pervading stillness to gather and deepen its +impressive effects, then added: “There would seem to be but one +way whereby this could happen. I ask these gentlemen—Was +there <i>collusion</i>?—<i>agreement</i>?”</p> +<p>A low murmur sifted through the house; its import was, “He’s +got them both.”</p> +<p>Billson was not used to emergencies; he sat in a helpless collapse. +But Wilson was a lawyer. He struggled to his feet, pale and worried, +and said:</p> +<p>“I ask the indulgence of the house while I explain this most +painful matter. I am sorry to say what I am about to say, since +it must inflict irreparable injury upon Mr. Billson, whom I have always +esteemed and respected until now, and in whose invulnerability to temptation +I entirely believed—as did you all. But for the preservation +of my own honour I must speak—and with frankness. I confess +with shame—and I now beseech your pardon for it—that I said +to the ruined stranger all of the words contained in the test-remark, +including the disparaging fifteen. [Sensation.] When the +late publication was made I recalled them, and I resolved to claim the +sack of coin, for by every right I was entitled to it. Now I will +ask you to consider this point, and weigh it well; that stranger’s +gratitude to me that night knew no bounds; he said himself that he could +find no words for it that were adequate, and that if he should ever +be able he would repay me a thousandfold. Now, then, I ask you +this; could I expect—could I believe—could I even remotely +imagine—that, feeling as he did, he would do so ungrateful a thing +as to add those quite unnecessary fifteen words to his test?—set +a trap for me?—expose me as a slanderer of my own town before +my own people assembled in a public hall? It was preposterous; +it was impossible. His test would contain only the kindly opening +clause of my remark. Of that I had no shadow of doubt. You +would have thought as I did. You would not have expected a base +betrayal from one whom you had befriended and against whom you had committed +no offence. And so with perfect confidence, perfect trust, I wrote +on a piece of paper the opening words—ending with “Go, and +reform,”—and signed it. When I was about to put it +in an envelope I was called into my back office, and without thinking +I left the paper lying open on my desk.” He stopped, turned +his head slowly toward Billson, waited a moment, then added: “I +ask you to note this; when I returned, a little latter, Mr. Billson +was retiring by my street door.” [Sensation.]</p> +<p>In a moment Billson was on his feet and shouting:</p> +<p>“It’s a lie! It’s an infamous lie!”</p> +<p>The Chair. “Be seated, sir! Mr. Wilson has the +floor.”</p> +<p>Billson’s friends pulled him into his seat and quieted him, +and Wilson went on:</p> +<p>“Those are the simple facts. My note was now lying in +a different place on the table from where I had left it. I noticed +that, but attached no importance to it, thinking a draught had blown +it there. That Mr. Billson would read a private paper was a thing +which could not occur to me; he was an honourable man, and he would +be above that. If you will allow me to say it, I think his extra +word ‘<i>very</i>’ stands explained: it is attributable +to a defect of memory. I was the only man in the world who could +furnish here any detail of the test-mark—by <i>honourable</i> +means. I have finished.”</p> +<p>There is nothing in the world like a persuasive speech to fuddle +the mental apparatus and upset the convictions and debauch the emotions +of an audience not practised in the tricks and delusions of oratory. +Wilson sat down victorious. The house submerged him in tides of +approving applause; friends swarmed to him and shook him by the hand +and congratulated him, and Billson was shouted down and not allowed +to say a word. The Chair hammered and hammered with its gavel, +and kept shouting:</p> +<p>“But let us proceed, gentlemen, let us proceed!”</p> +<p>At last there was a measurable degree of quiet, and the hatter said:</p> +<p>“But what is there to proceed with, sir, but to deliver the +money?”</p> +<p>Voices. “That’s it! That’s it! +Come forward, Wilson!”</p> +<p>The Hatter. “I move three cheers for Mr. Wilson, Symbol +of the special virtue which—”</p> +<p>The cheers burst forth before he could finish; and in the midst of +them—and in the midst of the clamour of the gavel also—some +enthusiasts mounted Wilson on a big friend’s shoulder and were +going to fetch him in triumph to the platform. The Chair’s +voice now rose above the noise:</p> +<p>“Order! To your places! You forget that there is +still a document to be read.” When quiet had been restored +he took up the document, and was going to read it, but laid it down +again saying “I forgot; this is not to be read until all written +communications received by me have first been read.” He +took an envelope out of his pocket, removed its enclosure, glanced at +it—seemed astonished—held it out and gazed at it—stared +at it.</p> +<p>Twenty or thirty voices cried out</p> +<p>“What is it? Read it! read it!”</p> +<p>And he did—slowly, and wondering:</p> +<p>“‘The remark which I made to the stranger—[Voices. +“Hello! how’s this?”]—was this: ‘You are +far from being a bad man. [Voices. “Great Scott!”] +Go, and reform.’” [Voice. “Oh, saw my +leg off!”] Signed by Mr. Pinkerton the banker.”</p> +<p>The pandemonium of delight which turned itself loose now was of a +sort to make the judicious weep. Those whose withers were unwrung +laughed till the tears ran down; the reporters, in throes of laughter, +set down disordered pot-hooks which would never in the world be decipherable; +and a sleeping dog jumped up scared out of its wits, and barked itself +crazy at the turmoil. All manner of cries were scattered through +the din: “We’re getting rich—<i>two</i> Symbols of +Incorruptibility!—without counting Billson!” “<i>Three</i>!—count +Shadbelly in—we can’t have too many!” “All +right—Billson’s elected!” “Alas, poor +Wilson! victim of <i>two</i> thieves!”</p> +<p>A Powerful Voice. “Silence! The Chair’s fished +up something more out of its pocket.”</p> +<p>Voices. “Hurrah! Is it something fresh? Read +it! read! read!”</p> +<p>The Chair [reading]. “‘The remark which I made,’ +etc. ‘You are far from being a bad man. Go,’ +etc. Signed, ‘Gregory Yates.’”</p> +<p>Tornado of Voices. “Four Symbols!” “’Rah +for Yates!” “Fish again!”</p> +<p>The house was in a roaring humour now, and ready to get all the fun +out of the occasion that might be in it. Several Nineteeners, +looking pale and distressed, got up and began to work their way towards +the aisles, but a score of shouts went up:</p> +<p>“The doors, the doors—close the doors; no Incorruptible +shall leave this place! Sit down, everybody!” The +mandate was obeyed.</p> +<p>“Fish again! Read! read!”</p> +<p>The Chair fished again, and once more the familiar words began to +fall from its lips—“‘You are far from being a bad +man—’”</p> +<p>“Name! name! What’s his name?”</p> +<p>“‘L. Ingoldsby Sargent.’”</p> +<p>“Five elected! Pile up the Symbols! Go on, go on!”</p> +<p>“‘You are far from being a bad—’”</p> +<p>“Name! name!”</p> +<p>“‘Nicholas Whitworth.’”</p> +<p>“Hooray! hooray! it’s a symbolical day!”</p> +<p>Somebody wailed in, and began to sing this rhyme (leaving out “it’s”) +to the lovely “Mikado” tune of “When a man’s +afraid of a beautiful maid;” the audience joined in, with joy; +then, just in time, somebody contributed another line—</p> +<blockquote><p>“And don’t you this forget—”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The house roared it out. A third line was at once furnished—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Corruptibles far from Hadleyburg are—”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The house roared that one too. As the last note died, Jack +Halliday’s voice rose high and clear, freighted with a final line—</p> +<blockquote><p>“But the Symbols are here, you bet!”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>That was sung, with booming enthusiasm. Then the happy house +started in at the beginning and sang the four lines through twice, with +immense swing and dash, and finished up with a crashing three-times-three +and a tiger for “Hadleyburg the Incorruptible and all Symbols +of it which we shall find worthy to receive the hall-mark to-night.”</p> +<p>Then the shoutings at the Chair began again, all over the place:</p> +<p>“Go on! go on! Read! read some more! Read all you’ve +got!”</p> +<p>“That’s it—go on! We are winning eternal +celebrity!”</p> +<p>A dozen men got up now and began to protest. They said that +this farce was the work of some abandoned joker, and was an insult to +the whole community. Without a doubt these signatures were all +forgeries—</p> +<p>“Sit down! sit down! Shut up! You are confessing. +We’ll find your names in the lot.”</p> +<p>“Mr. Chairman, how many of those envelopes have you got?”</p> +<p>The Chair counted.</p> +<p>“Together with those that have been already examined, there +are nineteen.”</p> +<p>A storm of derisive applause broke out.</p> +<p>“Perhaps they all contain the secret. I move that you +open them all and read every signature that is attached to a note of +that sort—and read also the first eight words of the note.”</p> +<p>“Second the motion!”</p> +<p>It was put and carried—uproariously. Then poor old Richards +got up, and his wife rose and stood at his side. Her head was +bent down, so that none might see that she was crying. Her husband +gave her his arm, and so supporting her, he began to speak in a quavering +voice:</p> +<p>“My friends, you have known us two—Mary and me—all +our lives, and I think you have liked us and respected us—”</p> +<p>The Chair interrupted him:</p> +<p>“Allow me. It is quite true—that which you are +saying, Mr. Richards; this town <i>does</i> know you two; it <i>does</i> +like you; it <i>does</i> respect you; more—it honours you and +<i>loves</i> you—”</p> +<p>Halliday’s voice rang out:</p> +<p>“That’s the hall-marked truth, too! If the Chair +is right, let the house speak up and say it. Rise! Now, +then—hip! hip! hip!—all together!”</p> +<p>The house rose in mass, faced toward the old couple eagerly, filled +the air with a snow-storm of waving handkerchiefs, and delivered the +cheers with all its affectionate heart.</p> +<p>The Chair then continued:</p> +<p>“What I was going to say is this: We know your good heart, +Mr. Richards, but this is not a time for the exercise of charity toward +offenders. [Shouts of “Right! right!”] I see +your generous purpose in your face, but I cannot allow you to plead +for these men—”</p> +<p>“But I was going to—”</p> +<p>“Please take your seat, Mr. Richards. We must examine +the rest of these notes—simple fairness to the men who have already +been exposed requires this. As soon as that has been done—I +give you my word for this—you shall he heard.”</p> +<p>Many voices. “Right!—the Chair is right—no +interruption can be permitted at this stage! Go on!—the +names! the names!—according to the terms of the motion!”</p> +<p>The old couple sat reluctantly down, and the husband whispered to +the wife, “It is pitifully hard to have to wait; the shame will +be greater than ever when they find we were only going to plead for +<i>ourselves</i>.”</p> +<p>Straightway the jollity broke loose again with the reading of the +names.</p> +<p>“‘You are far from being a bad man—’ Signature, +‘Robert J. Titmarsh.’”</p> +<p>“‘You are far from being a bad man—’ Signature, +‘Eliphalet Weeks.’”</p> +<p>“‘You are far from being a bad man—’ Signature, +‘Oscar B. Wilder.’”</p> +<p>At this point the house lit upon the idea of taking the eight words +out of the Chairman’s hands. He was not unthankful for that. +Thenceforward he held up each note in its turn and waited. The +house droned out the eight words in a massed and measured and musical +deep volume of sound (with a daringly close resemblance to a well-known +church chant)—“You are f-a-r from being a b-a-a-a-d man.” +Then the Chair said, “Signature, ‘Archibald Wilcox.’” +And so on, and so on, name after name, and everybody had an increasingly +and gloriously good time except the wretched Nineteen. Now and +then, when a particularly shining name was called, the house made the +Chair wait while it chanted the whole of the test-remark from the beginning +to the closing words, “And go to hell or Hadleyburg—try +and make it the for-or-m-e-r!” and in these special cases they +added a grand and agonised and imposing “A-a-a-a-<i>men</i>!”</p> +<p>The list dwindled, dwindled, dwindled, poor old Richards keeping +tally of the count, wincing when a name resembling his own was pronounced, +and waiting in miserable suspense for the time to come when it would +be his humiliating privilege to rise with Mary and finish his plea, +which he was intending to word thus: “... for until now we have +never done any wrong thing, but have gone our humble way unreproached. +We are very poor, we are old, and, have no chick nor child to help us; +we were sorely tempted, and we fell. It was my purpose when I +got up before to make confession and beg that my name might not be read +out in this public place, for it seemed to us that we could not bear +it; but I was prevented. It was just; it was our place to suffer +with the rest. It has been hard for us. It is the first +time we have ever heard our name fall from any one’s lips—sullied. +Be merciful—for the sake or the better days; make our shame as +light to bear as in your charity you can.” At this point +in his reverie Mary nudged him, perceiving that his mind was absent. +The house was chanting, “You are f-a-r,” etc.</p> +<p>“Be ready,” Mary whispered. “Your name comes +now; he has read eighteen.”</p> +<p>The chant ended.</p> +<p>“Next! next! next!” came volleying from all over the +house.</p> +<p>Burgess put his hand into his pocket. The old couple, trembling, +began to rise. Burgess fumbled a moment, then said:</p> +<p>“I find I have read them all.”</p> +<p>Faint with joy and surprise, the couple sank into their seats, and +Mary whispered:</p> +<p>“Oh, bless God, we are saved!—he has lost ours—I +wouldn’t give this for a hundred of those sacks!”</p> +<p>The house burst out with its “Mikado” travesty, and sang +it three times with ever-increasing enthusiasm, rising to its feet when +it reached for the third time the closing line—</p> +<blockquote><p>“But the Symbols are here, you bet!”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>and finishing up with cheers and a tiger for “Hadleyburg purity +and our eighteen immortal representatives of it.”</p> +<p>Then Wingate, the saddler, got up and proposed cheers “for +the cleanest man in town, the one solitary important citizen in it who +didn’t try to steal that money—Edward Richards.”</p> +<p>They were given with great and moving heartiness; then somebody proposed +that “Richards be elected sole Guardian and Symbol of the now +Sacred Hadleyburg Tradition, with power and right to stand up and look +the whole sarcastic world in the face.”</p> +<p>Passed, by acclamation; then they sang the “Mikado” again, +and ended it with—</p> +<blockquote><p>“And there’s <i>one</i> Symbol left, you +bet!”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>There was a pause; then—</p> +<p>A Voice. “Now, then, who’s to get the sack?”</p> +<p>The Tanner (with bitter sarcasm). “That’s easy. +The money has to be divided among the eighteen Incorruptibles. +They gave the suffering stranger twenty dollars apiece—and that +remark—each in his turn—it took twenty-two minutes for the +procession to move past. Staked the stranger—total contribution, +$360. All they want is just the loan back—and interest—forty +thousand dollars altogether.”</p> +<p>Many Voices [derisively.] “That’s it! Divvy! +divvy! Be kind to the poor—don’t keep them waiting!”</p> +<p>The Chair. “Order! I now offer the stranger’s +remaining document. It says: ‘If no claimant shall appear +[grand chorus of groans], I desire that you open the sack and count +out the money to the principal citizens of your town, they to take it +in trust [Cries of “Oh! Oh! Oh!”], and use it in such ways +as to them shall seem best for the propagation and preservation of your +community’s noble reputation for incorruptible honesty [more cries]—a +reputation to which their names and their efforts will add a new and +far-reaching lustre.” [Enthusiastic outburst of sarcastic +applause.] That seems to be all. No—here is a postscript:</p> +<p>“‘P.S.—CITIZENS OF HADLEYBURG: There <i>is</i> +no test-remark—nobody made one. [Great sensation.] +There wasn’t any pauper stranger, nor any twenty-dollar contribution, +nor any accompanying benediction and compliment—these are all +inventions. [General buzz and hum of astonishment and delight.] +Allow me to tell my story—it will take but a word or two. +I passed through your town at a certain time, and received a deep offence +which I had not earned. Any other man would have been content +to kill one or two of you and call it square, but to me that would have +been a trivial revenge, and inadequate; for the dead do not <i>suffer</i>. +Besides I could not kill you all—and, anyway, made as I am, even +that would not have satisfied me. I wanted to damage every man +in the place, and every woman—and not in their bodies or in their +estate, but in their vanity—the place where feeble and foolish +people are most vulnerable. So I disguised myself and came back +and studied you. You were easy game. You had an old and +lofty reputation for honesty, and naturally you were proud of it—it +was your treasure of treasures, the very apple of your eye. As +soon as I found out that you carefully and vigilantly kept yourselves +and your children <i>out of temptation</i>, I knew how to proceed. +Why, you simple creatures, the weakest of all weak things is a virtue +which has not been tested in the fire. I laid a plan, and gathered +a list of names. My project was to corrupt Hadleyburg the Incorruptible. +My idea was to make liars and thieves of nearly half a hundred smirchless +men and women who had never in their lives uttered a lie or stolen a +penny. I was afraid of Goodson. He was neither born nor +reared in Hadleyburg. I was afraid that if I started to operate +my scheme by getting my letter laid before you, you would say to yourselves, +‘Goodson is the only man among us who would give away twenty dollars +to a poor devil’—and then you might not bite at my bait. +But heaven took Goodson; then I knew I was safe, and I set my trap and +baited it. It may be that I shall not catch all the men to whom +I mailed the pretended test-secret, but I shall catch the most of them, +if I know Hadleyburg nature. [Voices. “Right—he +got every last one of them.”] I believe they will even steal +ostensible <i>gamble</i>-money, rather than miss, poor, tempted, and +mistrained fellows. I am hoping to eternally and everlastingly +squelch your vanity and give Hadleyburg a new renown—one that +will <i>stick</i>—and spread far. If I have succeeded, open +the sack and summon the Committee on Propagation and Preservation of +the Hadleyburg Reputation.’”</p> +<p>A Cyclone of Voices. “Open it! Open it! The +Eighteen to the front! Committee on Propagation of the Tradition! +Forward—the Incorruptibles!”</p> +<p>The Chair ripped the sack wide, and gathered up a handful of bright, +broad, yellow coins, shook them together, then examined them.</p> +<p>“Friends, they are only gilded disks of lead!”</p> +<p>There was a crashing outbreak of delight over this news, and when +the noise had subsided, the tanner called out:</p> +<p>“By right of apparent seniority in this business, Mr. Wilson +is Chairman of the Committee on Propagation of the Tradition. +I suggest that he step forward on behalf of his pals, and receive in +trust the money.”</p> +<p>A Hundred Voices. “Wilson! Wilson! Wilson! +Speech! Speech!”</p> +<p>Wilson [in a voice trembling with anger]. “You will allow +me to say, and without apologies for my language, <i>damn</i> the money!”</p> +<p>A Voice. “Oh, and him a Baptist!”</p> +<p>A Voice. “Seventeen Symbols left! Step up, gentlemen, +and assume your trust!”</p> +<p>There was a pause—no response.</p> +<p>The Saddler. “Mr. Chairman, we’ve got <i>one</i> +clean man left, anyway, out of the late aristocracy; and he needs money, +and deserves it. I move that you appoint Jack Halliday to get +up there and auction off that sack of gilt twenty-dollar pieces, and +give the result to the right man—the man whom Hadleyburg delights +to honour—Edward Richards.”</p> +<p>This was received with great enthusiasm, the dog taking a hand again; +the saddler started the bids at a dollar, the Brixton folk and Barnum’s +representative fought hard for it, the people cheered every jump that +the bids made, the excitement climbed moment by moment higher and higher, +the bidders got on their mettle and grew steadily more and more daring, +more and more determined, the jumps went from a dollar up to five, then +to ten, then to twenty, then fifty, then to a hundred, then—</p> +<p>At the beginning of the auction Richards whispered in distress to +his wife: “Oh, Mary, can we allow it? It—it—you +see, it is an honour—reward, a testimonial to purity of character, +and—and—can we allow it? Hadn’t I better get +up and—Oh, Mary, what ought we to do?—what do you think +we—” [Halliday’s voice. “Fifteen I’m +bid!—fifteen for the sack!—twenty!—ah, thanks!—thirty—thanks +again! Thirty, thirty, thirty!—do I hear forty?—forty +it is! Keep the ball rolling, gentlemen, keep it rolling!—fifty!—thanks, +noble Roman!—going at fifty, fifty, fifty!—seventy!—ninety!—splendid!—a +hundred!—pile it up, pile it up!—hundred and twenty—forty!—just +in time!—hundred and fifty!—Two hundred!—superb! +Do I hear two h—thanks!—two hundred and fifty!—”]</p> +<p>“It is another temptation, Edward—I’m all in a +tremble—but, oh, we’ve escaped one temptation, and that +ought to warn us, to—[“Six did I hear?—thanks!—six +fifty, six f—SEVEN hundred!”] And yet, Edward, when +you think—nobody susp—[“Eight hundred dollars!—hurrah!—make +it nine!—Mr. Parsons, did I hear you say—thanks!—nine!—this +noble sack of virgin lead going at only nine hundred dollars, gilding +and all—come! do I hear—a thousand!—gratefully yours!—did +some one say eleven?—a sack which is going to be the most celebrated +in the whole Uni—”] “Oh, Edward” (beginning +to sob), “we are so poor!—but—but—do as you +think best—do as you think best.”</p> +<p>Edward fell—that is, he sat still; sat with a conscience which +was not satisfied, but which was overpowered by circumstances.</p> +<p>Meantime a stranger, who looked like an amateur detective gotten +up as an impossible English earl, had been watching the evening’s +proceedings with manifest interest, and with a contented expression +in his face; and he had been privately commenting to himself. +He was now soliloquising somewhat like this: “None of the Eighteen +are bidding; that is not satisfactory; I must change that—the +dramatic unities require it; they must buy the sack they tried to steal; +they must pay a heavy price, too—some of them are rich. +And another thing, when I make a mistake in Hadleyburg nature the man +that puts that error upon me is entitled to a high honorarium, and some +one must pay. This poor old Richards has brought my judgment to +shame; he is an honest man:—I don’t understand it, but I +acknowledge it. Yes, he saw my deuces—<i>and</i> with a +straight flush, and by rights the pot is his. And it shall be +a jack-pot, too, if I can manage it. He disappointed me, but let +that pass.”</p> +<p>He was watching the bidding. At a thousand, the market broke: +the prices tumbled swiftly. He waited—and still watched. +One competitor dropped out; then another, and another. He put +in a bid or two now. When the bids had sunk to ten dollars, he +added a five; some one raised him a three; he waited a moment, then +flung in a fifty-dollar jump, and the sack was his—at $1,282. +The house broke out in cheers—then stopped; for he was on his +feet, and had lifted his hand. He began to speak.</p> +<p>“I desire to say a word, and ask a favour. I am a speculator +in rarities, and I have dealings with persons interested in numismatics +all over the world. I can make a profit on this purchase, just +as it stands; but there is a way, if I can get your approval, whereby +I can make every one of these leaden twenty-dollar pieces worth its +face in gold, and perhaps more. Grant me that approval, and I +will give part of my gains to your Mr. Richards, whose invulnerable +probity you have so justly and so cordially recognised to-night; his +share shall be ten thousand dollars, and I will hand him the money to-morrow. +[Great applause from the house. But the “invulnerable probity” +made the Richardses blush prettily; however, it went for modesty, and +did no harm.] If you will pass my proposition by a good majority—I +would like a two-thirds vote—I will regard that as the town’s +consent, and that is all I ask. Rarities are always helped by +any device which will rouse curiosity and compel remark. Now if +I may have your permission to stamp upon the faces of each of these +ostensible coins the names of the eighteen gentlemen who—”</p> +<p>Nine-tenths of the audience were on their feet in a moment—dog +and all—and the proposition was carried with a whirlwind of approving +applause and laughter.</p> +<p>They sat down, and all the Symbols except “Dr.” Clay +Harkness got up, violently protesting against the proposed outrage, +and threatening to—</p> +<p>“I beg you not to threaten me,” said the stranger calmly. +“I know my legal rights, and am not accustomed to being frightened +at bluster.” [Applause.] He sat down. “Dr.” +Harkness saw an opportunity here. He was one of the two very rich +men of the place, and Pinkerton was the other. Harkness was proprietor +of a mint; that is to say, a popular patent medicine. He was running +for the Legislature on one ticket, and Pinkerton on the other. +It was a close race and a hot one, and getting hotter every day. +Both had strong appetites for money; each had bought a great tract of +land, with a purpose; there was going to be a new railway, and each +wanted to be in the Legislature and help locate the route to his own +advantage; a single vote might make the decision, and with it two or +three fortunes. The stake was large, and Harkness was a daring +speculator. He was sitting close to the stranger. He leaned +over while one or another of the other Symbols was entertaining the +house with protests and appeals, and asked, in a whisper,</p> +<p>“What is your price for the sack?”</p> +<p>“Forty thousand dollars.”</p> +<p>“I’ll give you twenty.”</p> +<p>“No.”</p> +<p>“Twenty-five.”</p> +<p>“No.”</p> +<p>“Say thirty.”</p> +<p>“The price is forty thousand dollars; not a penny less.”</p> +<p>“All right, I’ll give it. I will come to the hotel +at ten in the morning. I don’t want it known; will see you +privately.”</p> +<p>“Very good.” Then the stranger got up and said +to the house:</p> +<p>“I find it late. The speeches of these gentlemen are +not without merit, not without interest, not without grace; yet if I +may be excused I will take my leave. I thank you for the great +favour which you have shown me in granting my petition. I ask +the Chair to keep the sack for me until to-morrow, and to hand these +three five-hundred-dollar notes to Mr. Richards.” They were +passed up to the Chair.</p> +<p>“At nine I will call for the sack, and at eleven will deliver +the rest of the ten thousand to Mr. Richards in person at his home. +Good-night.”</p> +<p>Then he slipped out, and left the audience making a vast noise, which +was composed of a mixture of cheers, the “Mikado” song, +dog-disapproval, and the chant, “You are f-a-r from being a b-a-a-d +man—a-a-a a-men!”</p> +<h2>IV.</h2> +<p>At home the Richardses had to endure congratulations and compliments +until midnight. Then they were left to themselves. They +looked a little sad, and they sat silent and thinking. Finally +Mary sighed and said:</p> +<p>“Do you think we are to blame, Edward—<i>much</i> to +blame?” and her eyes wandered to the accusing triplet of big bank-notes +lying on the table, where the congratulators had been gloating over +them and reverently fingering them. Edward did not answer at once; +then he brought out a sigh and said, hesitatingly:</p> +<p>“We—we couldn’t help it, Mary. It—well +it was ordered. <i>All</i> things are.”</p> +<p>Mary glanced up and looked at him steadily, but he didn’t return +the look. Presently she said:</p> +<p>“I thought congratulations and praises always tasted good. +But—it seems to me, now—Edward?”</p> +<p>“Well?”</p> +<p>“Are you going to stay in the bank?”</p> +<p>“N—no.”</p> +<p>“Resign?”</p> +<p>“In the morning—by note.”</p> +<p>“It does seem best.”</p> +<p>Richards bowed his head in his hands and muttered:</p> +<p>“Before I was not afraid to let oceans of people’s money +pour through my hands, but—Mary, I am so tired, so tired—”</p> +<p>“We will go to bed.”</p> +<p>At nine in the morning the stranger called for the sack and took +it to the hotel in a cab. At ten Harkness had a talk with him +privately. The stranger asked for and got five cheques on a metropolitan +bank—drawn to “Bearer,”—four for $1,500 each, +and one for $34,000. He put one of the former in his pocket-book, +and the remainder, representing $38,500, he put in an envelope, and +with these he added a note which he wrote after Harkness was gone. +At eleven he called at the Richards’ house and knocked. +Mrs. Richards peeped through the shutters, then went and received the +envelope, and the stranger disappeared without a word. She came +back flushed and a little unsteady on her legs, and gasped out:</p> +<p>“I am sure I recognised him! Last night it seemed to +me that maybe I had seen him somewhere before.”</p> +<p>“He is the man that brought the sack here?”</p> +<p>“I am almost sure of it.”</p> +<p>“Then he is the ostensible Stephenson too, and sold every important +citizen in this town with his bogus secret. Now if he has sent +cheques instead of money, we are sold too, after we thought we had escaped. +I was beginning to feel fairly comfortable once more, after my night’s +rest, but the look of that envelope makes me sick. It isn’t +fat enough; $8,500 in even the largest bank-notes makes more bulk than +that.”</p> +<p>“Edward, why do you object to cheques?”</p> +<p>“Cheques signed by Stephenson! I am resigned to take +the $8,500 if it could come in bank-notes—for it does seem that +it was so ordered, Mary—but I have never had much courage, and +I have not the pluck to try to market a cheque signed with that disastrous +name. It would be a trap. That man tried to catch me; we +escaped somehow or other; and now he is trying a new way. If it +is cheques—”</p> +<p>“Oh, Edward, it is <i>too</i> bad!” And she held +up the cheques and began to cry.</p> +<p>“Put them in the fire! quick! we mustn’t be tempted. +It is a trick to make the world laugh at <i>us</i>, along with the rest, +and—Give them to <i>me</i>, since you can’t do it!” +He snatched them and tried to hold his grip till he could get to the +stove; but he was human, he was a cashier, and he stopped a moment to +make sure of the signature. Then he came near to fainting.</p> +<p>“Fan me, Mary, fan me! They are the same as gold!”</p> +<p>“Oh, how lovely, Edward! Why?”</p> +<p>“Signed by Harkness. What can the mystery of that be, +Mary?”</p> +<p>“Edward, do you think—”</p> +<p>“Look here—look at this! Fifteen—fifteen—fifteen—thirty-four. +Thirty-eight thousand five hundred! Mary, the sack isn’t +worth twelve dollars, and Harkness—apparently—has paid about +par for it.”</p> +<p>“And does it all come to us, do you think—instead of +the ten thousand?”</p> +<p>“Why, it looks like it. And the cheques are made to ‘Bearer,’ +too.”</p> +<p>“Is that good, Edward? What is it for?”</p> +<p>“A hint to collect them at some distant bank, I reckon. +Perhaps Harkness doesn’t want the matter known. What is +that—a note?”</p> +<p>“Yes. It was with the cheques.”</p> +<p>It was in the “Stephenson” handwriting, but there was +no signature. It said:</p> +<blockquote><p>“I am a disappointed man. Your honesty is +beyond the reach of temptation. I had a different idea about it, +but I wronged you in that, and I beg pardon, and do it sincerely. +I honour you—and that is sincere too. This town is not worthy +to kiss the hem of your garment. Dear sir, I made a square bet +with myself that there were nineteen debauchable men in your self-righteous +community. I have lost. Take the whole pot, you are entitled +to it.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Richards drew a deep sigh, and said:</p> +<p>“It seems written with fire—it burns so. Mary—I +am miserable again.”</p> +<p>“I, too. Ah, dear, I wish—”</p> +<p>“To think, Mary—he <i>believes</i> in me.”<br> +</p> +<p>“Oh, don’t, Edward—I can’t bear it.”</p> +<p>“If those beautiful words were deserved, Mary—and God +knows I believed I deserved them once—I think I could give the +forty thousand dollars for them. And I would put that paper away, +as representing more than gold and jewels, and keep it always. +But now—We could not live in the shadow of its accusing presence, +Mary.”</p> +<p>He put it in the fire.</p> +<p>A messenger arrived and delivered an envelope. Richards took +from it a note and read it; it was from Burgess:</p> +<blockquote><p>“You saved me, in a difficult time. I saved +you last night. It was at cost of a lie, but I made the sacrifice +freely, and out of a grateful heart. None in this village knows +so well as I know how brave and good and noble you are. At bottom +you cannot respect me, knowing as you do of that matter of which I am +accused, and by the general voice condemned; but I beg that you will +at least believe that I am a grateful man; it will help me to bear my +burden. [Signed] ‘BURGESS.’”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>“Saved, once more. And on such terms!” He +put the note in the fire. “I—I wish I were dead, Mary, +I wish I were out of it all!”</p> +<p>“Oh, these are bitter, bitter days, Edward. The stabs, +through their very generosity, are so deep—and they come so fast!”</p> +<p>Three days before the election each of two thousand voters suddenly +found himself in possession of a prized memento—one of the renowned +bogus double-eagles. Around one of its faces was stamped these +words: “THE REMARK I MADE TO THE POOR STRANGER WAS—” +Around the other face was stamped these: “GO, AND REFORM. +[SIGNED] PINKERTON.” Thus the entire remaining refuse of +the renowned joke was emptied upon a single head, and with calamitous +effect. It revived the recent vast laugh and concentrated it upon +Pinkerton; and Harkness’s election was a walk-over.</p> +<p>Within twenty-four hours after the Richardses had received their +cheques their consciences were quieting down, discouraged; the old couple +were learning to reconcile themselves to the sin which they had committed. +But they were to learn, now, that a sin takes on new and real terrors +when there seems a chance that it is going to be found out. This +gives it a fresh and most substantial and important aspect. At +church the morning sermon was of the usual pattern; it was the same +old things said in the same old way; they had heard them a thousand +times and found them innocuous, next to meaningless, and easy to sleep +under; but now it was different: the sermon seemed to bristle with accusations; +it seemed aimed straight and specially at people who were concealing +deadly sins. After church they got away from the mob of congratulators +as soon as they could, and hurried homeward, chilled to the bone at +they did not know what—vague, shadowy, indefinite fears. +And by chance they caught a glimpse of Mr. Burgess as he turned a corner. +He paid no attention to their nod of recognition! He hadn’t +seen it; but they did not know that. What could his conduct mean? +It might mean—it might—mean—oh, a dozen dreadful things. +Was it possible that he knew that Richards could have cleared him of +guilt in that bygone time, and had been silently waiting for a chance +to even up accounts? At home, in their distress they got to imagining +that their servant might have been in the next room listening when Richards +revealed the secret to his wife that he knew of Burgess’s innocence; +next Richards began to imagine that he had heard the swish of a gown +in there at that time; next, he was sure he <i>had</i> heard it. +They would call Sarah in, on a pretext, and watch her face; if she had +been betraying them to Mr. Burgess, it would show in her manner. +They asked her some questions—questions which were so random and +incoherent and seemingly purposeless that the girl felt sure that the +old people’s minds had been affected by their sudden good fortune; +the sharp and watchful gaze which they bent upon her frightened her, +and that completed the business. She blushed, she became nervous +and confused, and to the old people these were plain signs of guilt—guilt +of some fearful sort or other—without doubt she was a spy and +a traitor. When they were alone again they began to piece many +unrelated things together and get horrible results out of the combination. +When things had got about to the worst Richards was delivered of a sudden +gasp and his wife asked:</p> +<p>“Oh, what is it?—what is it?”</p> +<p>“The note—Burgess’s note! Its language was +sarcastic, I see it now.” He quoted: “‘At bottom +you cannot respect me, <i>knowing</i>, as you do, of <i>that matter +of</i> which I am accused’—oh, it is perfectly plain, now, +God help me! He knows that I know! You see the ingenuity +of the phrasing. It was a trap—and like a fool, I walked +into it. And Mary—!”</p> +<p>“Oh, it is dreadful—I know what you are going to say—he +didn’t return your transcript of the pretended test-remark.”</p> +<p>“No—kept it to destroy us with. Mary, he has exposed +us to some already. I know it—I know it well. I saw +it in a dozen faces after church. Ah, he wouldn’t answer +our nod of recognition—he knew what he had been doing!”</p> +<p>In the night the doctor was called. The news went around in +the morning that the old couple were rather seriously ill—prostrated +by the exhausting excitement growing out of their great windfall, the +congratulations, and the late hours, the doctor said. The town +was sincerely distressed; for these old people were about all it had +left to be proud of, now.</p> +<p>Two days later the news was worse. The old couple were delirious, +and were doing strange things. By witness of the nurses, Richards +had exhibited cheques—for $8,500? No—for an amazing +sum—$38,500! What could be the explanation of this gigantic +piece of luck?</p> +<p>The following day the nurses had more news—and wonderful. +They had concluded to hide the cheques, lest harm come to them; but +when they searched they were gone from under the patient’s pillow—vanished +away. The patient said:</p> +<p>“Let the pillow alone; what do you want?”</p> +<p>“We thought it best that the cheques—”</p> +<p>“You will never see them again—they are destroyed. +They came from Satan. I saw the hell-brand on them, and I knew +they were sent to betray me to sin.” Then he fell to gabbling +strange and dreadful things which were not clearly understandable, and +which the doctor admonished them to keep to themselves.</p> +<p>Richards was right; the cheques were never seen again.</p> +<p>A nurse must have talked in her sleep, for within two days the forbidden +gabblings were the property of the town; and they were of a surprising +sort. They seemed to indicate that Richards had been a claimant +for the sack himself, and that Burgess had concealed that fact and then +maliciously betrayed it.</p> +<p>Burgess was taxed with this and stoutly denied it. And he said +it was not fair to attach weight to the chatter of a sick old man who +was out of his mind. Still, suspicion was in the air, and there +was much talk.</p> +<p>After a day or two it was reported that Mrs. Richards’s delirious +deliveries were getting to be duplicates of her husband’s. +Suspicion flamed up into conviction, now, and the town’s pride +in the purity of its one undiscredited important citizen began to dim +down and flicker toward extinction.</p> +<p>Six days passed, then came more news. The old couple were dying. +Richards’s mind cleared in his latest hour, and he sent for Burgess. +Burgess said:</p> +<p>“Let the room be cleared. I think he wishes to say something +in privacy.”</p> +<p>“No!” said Richards; “I want witnesses. I +want you all to hear my confession, so that I may die a man, and not +a dog. I was clean—artificially—like the rest; and +like the rest I fell when temptation came. I signed a lie, and +claimed the miserable sack. Mr. Burgess remembered that I had +done him a service, and in gratitude (and ignorance) he suppressed my +claim and saved me. You know the thing that was charged against +Burgess years ago. My testimony, and mine alone, could have cleared +him, and I was a coward and left him to suffer disgrace—”</p> +<p>“No—no—Mr. Richards, you—”</p> +<p>“My servant betrayed my secret to him—”</p> +<p>“No one has betrayed anything to me—”</p> +<p>—“And then he did a natural and justifiable thing; he +repented of the saving kindness which he had done me, and he <i>exposed</i> +me—as I deserved—”</p> +<p>“Never!—I make oath—”</p> +<p>“Out of my heart I forgive him.”</p> +<p>Burgess’s impassioned protestations fell upon deaf ears; the +dying man passed away without knowing that once more he had done poor +Burgess a wrong. The old wife died that night.</p> +<p>The last of the sacred Nineteen had fallen a prey to the fiendish +sack; the town was stripped of the last rag of its ancient glory. +Its mourning was not showy, but it was deep.</p> +<p>By act of the Legislature—upon prayer and petition—Hadleyburg +was allowed to change its name to (never mind what—I will not +give it away), and leave one word out of the motto that for many generations +had graced the town’s official seal.</p> +<p>It is an honest town once more, and the man will have to rise early +that catches it napping again.</p> + + +<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 1213 ***</div> +</body> +</html> |