Tom Stares at Ruin.
When I reflect upon the number of disagreeable people who I know have gone to a better world, I am moved to lead a different life.—Pudd’nhead Wilson’s Calendar.
October. This is one of the peculiarly dangerous months to speculate in stocks in. The others are July, January, September, April, November, May, March, June, December, August, and February.—Pudd’nhead Wilson’s Calendar.
Thusmournfully communing with himself Tom moped along the lane past Pudd’nhead Wilson’s house, and still on and on between fences inclosing vacant country on each hand till he neared the haunted house, then he came moping back again, with many sighs and heavy with trouble. He sorely wanted cheerful company. Rowena! His heart gave a bound at the thought, but the next thought quieted it—the detested twins would be there.
He was on the inhabited side of Wilson’shouse, and now as he approached it he noticed that the sitting-room was lighted. This would do; others made him feel unwelcome sometimes, but Wilson never failed in courtesy toward him, and a kindly courtesy does at least save one’s feelings, even if it is not professing to stand for a welcome. Wilson heard footsteps at his threshold, then the clearing of a throat.
“It’s that fickle-tempered, dissipated young goose—poor devil, he find friends pretty scarce to-day, likely, after the disgrace of carrying a personal-assault case into a law-court.”
A dejected knock. “Come in!”
Tom entered, and drooped into a chair, without saying anything. Wilson said kindly—
“Why, my boy, you look desolate. Don’t take it so hard. Try and forget you have beenkicked.”
“Oh, dear,” said Tom, wretchedly, “it’s not that, Pudd’nhead—it’s not that. It’s a thousand times worse than that—oh, yes, a million times worse.”
“Why, Tom, what do you mean? Has Rowena—”
“Flung me? No, but the old man has.”
Wilson said to himself, “Aha!” and thought of the mysterious girl in the bedroom. “The Driscolls have been making discoveries!” Then he said aloud, gravely:
“Tom, there are some kinds of dissipation which—”
“Oh, shucks, this hasn’t got anything to do with dissipation. He wanted me to challenge that derned Italian savage, and I wouldn’t do it.”
“Yes, of course he would do that,” said Wilson in a meditative matter-of-course way, “but the thing that puzzled me was, why he didn’t look to that last night, for one thing, and why he let you carry such a matter into a court of law at all, either before the duel or after it. It’s no place for it. It was not like him. I couldn’t understand it. How did it happen?”
“It happened because he didn’t know anything about it. He was asleep when I got home last night.”
“And you didn’t wake him? Tom, is that possible?”
Tom was not getting much comfort here. He fidgeted a moment, then said:
“I didn’t choose to tell him—that’s all. He was going a-fishing before dawn, with Pembroke Howard, and if I got the twins into the common calaboose—and I thought sure I could—I never dreamed of their slipping out on a paltry fine for such an outrageous offense—well, once in the calaboose they would be disgraced, and uncle wouldn’t want any duels with that sort of characters, and wouldn’t allow any.”
“Tom, I am ashamed of you! I don’t see how you could treat your good old uncle so. I am a better friend of his than you are; for if I had known the circumstances I would have kept that case out of court until I got word to him and let him have a gentleman’s chance.”
“You would?” exclaimed Tom, with lively surprise. “And it your first case! And you know perfectly well there never would havebeenany case if he had got that chance, don’tyou? And you’d have finished your days a pauper nobody, instead of being an actually launched and recognized lawyer to-day. And you would really have done that, would you?”
“Certainly.”
Tom looked at him a moment or two, then shook his head sorrowfully and said—
“I believe you—upon my word I do. I don’t know why I do, but I do. Pudd’nhead Wilson, I think you’re the biggest fool I ever saw.”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it.”
“Well, he has been requiring you to fight the Italian and you have refused. You degenerate remnant of an honorable line! I’m thoroughly ashamed of you, Tom!”
“Oh, that’s nothing! I don’t care for anything, now that the will’s torn up again.”
“Tom, tell me squarely—didn’t he find any fault with you for anything but those two things—carrying the case into court and refusing to fight?”
He watched the young fellow’s face narrowly, but it was entirely reposeful, and so also was the voice that answered:
“No, he didn’t find any other fault with me. If he had had any to find, he would have begun yesterday, for he was just in the humor for it. He drove that jack-pair around town and showed them the sights, and when he came home he couldn’t find his father’s old silver watch that don’t keep time and he thinks so much of, and couldn’t remember what he did with it three or four days ago when he saw it last, and so when I arrived he was all in a sweat about it, and when I suggested that it probably wasn’t lost but stolen, it put him in a regular passion and he said I was a fool—which convinced me, without any trouble, that that was just what he was afraidhadhappened, himself, but did not want to believe it, because lost things stand a better chance of being found again than stolen ones.”
“Whe-ew!” whistled Wilson; “score another on the list.”
“Another what?”
“Another theft!”
“Theft?”
“Yes, theft. That watch isn’t lost, it’sstolen. There’s been another raid on the town—and just the same old mysterious sort of thing that has happened once before, as you remember.”
“You don’t mean it!”
“It’s as sure as you are born! Have you missed anything yourself?”
“No. That is, I did miss a silver pencil-case that Aunt Mary Pratt gave me last birthday—”
“You’ll find it stolen—that’s what you’ll find.”
“No, I sha’n’t; for when I suggested theft about the watch and got such a rap, I went and examined my room, and the pencil-case was missing, but it was only mislaid, and I found it again.”
“You are sure you missed nothing else?”
“Well, nothing of consequence. I missed a small plain gold ring worth two or three dollars, but that will turn up. I’ll look again.”
“In my opinion you’ll not find it. There’s been a raid, I tell you. Comein!”
Mr. Justice Robinson entered, followed byBuckstone and the town-constable, Jim Blake. They sat down, and after some wandering and aimless weather-conversation Wilson said—
“By the way, we’ve just added another to the list of thefts, maybe two. Judge Driscoll’s old silver watch is gone, and Tom here has missed a gold ring.”
“Well, it is a bad business,” said the Justice, “and gets worse the further it goes. The Hankses, the Dobsons, the Pilligrews, the Ortons, the Grangers, the Hales, the Fullers, the Holcombs, in fact everybody that lives around about Patsy Cooper’s has been robbed of little things like trinkets and teaspoons and such-like small valuables that are easily carried off. It’s perfectly plain that the thief took advantage of the reception at Patsy Cooper’s when all the neighbors were in her house and all their niggers hanging around her fence for a look at the show, to raid the vacant houses undisturbed. Patsy is miserable about it; miserable on account of the neighbors, and particularly miserable on account of her foreigners, of course; so miserableon their account that she hasn’t any room to worry about her own little losses.”
“It’s the same old raider,” said Wilson. “I suppose there isn’t any doubt about that.”
“Constable Blake doesn’t think so.”
“No, you’re wrong there,” said Blake; “the other times it was a man; there was plenty of signs of that, as we know, in the profession, though we never got hands on him; but this time it’s a woman.”
Wilson thought of the mysterious girl straight off. She was always in his mind now. But she failed him again. Blake continued:
“She’s a stoop-shouldered old woman with a covered basket on her arm, in a black veil, dressed in mourning. I saw her going aboard the ferry-boat yesterday. Lives in Illinois, I reckon; but I don’t care where she lives, I’m going to get her—she can make herself sure of that.”
“What makes you think she’s the thief?”
“Well, there ain’t any other, for one thing; and for another, some nigger draymen that happened to be driving along saw her coming out of or going into houses, and toldme so—and it just happens that they wasrobbedhouses, every time.”
It was granted that this was plenty good enough circumstantial evidence. A pensive silence followed, which lasted some moments, then Wilson said—
“There’s one good thing, anyway. She can’t either pawn or sell Count Luigi’s costly Indian dagger.”
“My!” said Tom, “isthatgone?”
“Yes.”
“Well, that was a haul! But why can’t she pawn it or sell it?”
“Because when the twins went home from the Sons of Liberty meeting last night, news of the raid was sifting in from everywhere, and Aunt Patsy was in distress to know if they had lost anything. They found that the dagger was gone, and they notified the police and pawnbrokers everywhere. It was a great haul, yes, but the old woman won’t get anything out of it, because she’ll get caught.”
“Did they offer a reward?” asked Buckstone.
“Yes; five hundred dollars for the knife, and five hundred more for the thief.”
“What a leather-headed idea!” exclaimed the constable. “The thief da’sn’t go near them, nor send anybody. Whoever goes is going to get himself nabbed, for their ain’t any pawnbroker that’s going to lose the chance to—”
If anybody had noticed Tom’s face at that time, the gray-green color of it might have provoked curiosity; but nobody did. He said to himself: “I’m gone! I never can square up; the rest of the plunder won’t pawn or sell for half of the bill. Oh, I know it—I’m gone, I’m gone—and this time it’s for good. Oh, this is awful—I don’t know what to do, nor which way to turn!”
“Softly, softly,” said Wilson to Blake. “I planned their scheme for them at midnight last night, and it was all finished up shipshape by two this morning. They’ll get their dagger back, and then I’ll explain to you how the thing was done.”
There were strong signs of a general curiosity, and Buckstone said—
“Well, you have whetted us up pretty sharp, Wilson, and I’m free to say thatif you don’t mind telling us in confidence—”
“Oh, I’d as soon tell as not, Buckstone, but as long as the twins and I agreed to say nothing about it, we must let it stand so. But you can take my word for it you won’t be kept waiting three days. Somebody will apply for that reward pretty promptly, and I’ll show you the thief and the dagger both very soon afterward.”
The constable was disappointed, and also perplexed. He said—
“It may all be—yes, and I hope it will, but I’m blamed if I can see my way through it. It’s too many for yours truly.”
The subject seemed about talked out. Nobody seemed to have anything further to offer. After a silence the justice of the peace informed Wilson that he and Buckstone and the constable had come as a committee, on the part of the Democratic party, to ask him to run for mayor—for the little town was about to become a city and the first charter election was approaching. It was the first attention which Wilson had ever received atthe hands of any party; it was a sufficiently humble one, but it was a recognition of his début into the town’s life and activities at last; it was a step upward, and he was deeply gratified. He accepted, and the committee departed, followed by young Tom.
Roxana Insists Upon Reform.
The true Southern watermelon is a boon apart, and not to be mentioned with commoner things. It is chief of this world’s luxuries, king by the grace of God over all the fruits of the earth. When one has tasted it, he knows what the angels eat. It was not a Southern watermelon that Eve took: we know it because she repented.—Pudd’nhead Wilson’s Calendar.
Aboutthe time that Wilson was bowing the committee out, Pembroke Howard was entering the next house to report. He found the old Judge sitting grim and straight in his chair, waiting.
“Well, Howard—the news?”
“The best in the world.”
“Accepts, does he?” and the light of battle gleamed joyously in the Judge’s eye.
“Accepts? Why, he jumped at it.”
“Did, did he? Now that’s fine—that’s very fine. I like that. When is it to be?”
“Now! Straight off! To-night! An admirable fellow—admirable!”
“Admirable? He’s a darling! Why, it’s an honor as well as a pleasure to stand up before such a man. Come—off with you! Go and arrange everything—and give him my heartiest compliments. A rare fellow, indeed; an admirable fellow, as you have said!”
Howard hurried away, saying—
“I’ll have him in the vacant stretch between Wilson’s and the haunted house within the hour, and I’ll bring my own pistols.”
Judge Driscoll began to walk the floor in a state of pleased excitement; but presently he stopped, and began to think—began to think of Tom. Twice he moved toward the secretary, and twice he turned away again; but finally he said—
“This may be my last night in the world—I must not take the chance. He is worthless and unworthy, but it is largely my fault. He was intrusted to me by my brother on his dying bed, and I have indulged him to his hurt, instead of training him up severely, and making a man of him. I have violated my trust, and I must not add the sin of desertion tothat. I have forgiven him once already, and would subject him to a long and hard trial before forgiving him again, if I could live; but I must not run that risk. No, I must restore the will. But if I survive the duel, I will hide it away, and he will not know, and I will not tell him until he reforms, and I see that his reformation is going to be permanent.”
He re-drew the will, and his ostensible nephew was heir to a fortune again. As he was finishing his task, Tom, wearied with another brooding tramp, entered the house and went tiptoeing past the sitting-room door. He glanced in, and hurried on, for the sight of his uncle had nothing but terrors for him to-night. But his uncle was writing! That was unusual at this late hour. What could he be writing? A chill of anxiety settled down upon Tom’s heart. Did that writing concern him? He was afraid so. He reflected that when ill luck begins, it does not come in sprinkles, but in showers. He said he would get a glimpse of that document or know the reason why. He heard some one coming, and stepped out of sight and hearing. It wasPembroke Howard. What could behatching?
Howard said, with great satisfaction:
“Everything’s right and ready. He’s gone to the battle-ground with his second and the surgeon—also with his brother. I’ve arranged it all with Wilson—Wilson’s his second. We are to have three shots apiece.”
“Good! How is the moon?”
“Bright as day, nearly. Perfect, for the distance—fifteen yards. No wind—not a breath; hot and still.”
“All good; all first-rate. Here, Pembroke, read this, and witness it.”
Pembroke read and witnessed the will, then gave the old man’s hand a hearty shake and said:
“Now that’s right, York—but I knew you would do it. You couldn’t leave that poor chap to fight along without means or profession, with certain defeat before him, and I knew you wouldn’t, for his father’s sake if not for his own.”
“For his dead father’s sake I couldn’t, I know; for poor Percy—but you know whatPercy was to me. But mind—Tom is not to know of this unless I fall to-night.”
“I understand. I’ll keep the secret.”
The Judge put the will away, and the two started for the battle-ground. In another minute the will was in Tom’s hands. His misery vanished, his feelings underwent a tremendous revulsion. He put the will carefully back in its place, and spread his mouth and swung his hat once, twice, three times around his head, in imitation of three rousing huzzas, no sound issuing from his lips. He fell to communing with himself excitedly and joyously, but every now and then he let off another volley of dumb hurrahs.
He said to himself: “I’ve got the fortune again, but I’ll not let on that I know about it. And this time I’m going to hang on to it. I take no more risks. I’ll gamble no more, I’ll drink no more, because—well, because I’ll not go where there is any of that sort of thing going on, again. It’s the sure way, and the only sure way; I might have thought of that sooner—well, yes, if I had wanted to. But now—dear me, I’ve had ascare this time, and I’ll take no more chances. Not a single chance more. Land! I persuaded myself this evening that I could fetch him around without any great amount of effort, but I’ve been getting more and more heavy-hearted and doubtful straight along, ever since. If he tells me about this thing, all right; but if he doesn’t, Isha’n’tlet on. I—well, I’d like to tell Pudd’nhead Wilson, but—no, I’ll think about that; perhaps I won’t.” He whirled off another dead huzza, and said, “I’m reformed, and this time I’ll stay so, sure!”
He was about to close with a final grand silent demonstration, when he suddenly recollected that Wilson had put it out of his power to pawn or sell the Indian knife, and that he was once more in awful peril of exposure by his creditors for that reason. His joy collapsed utterly, and he turned away and moped toward the door moaning and lamenting over the bitterness of his luck. He dragged himself up-stairs, and brooded in his room a long time disconsolate and forlorn, with Luigi’s Indian knife for a text. At last he sighed and said:
“When I supposed these stones were glass and this ivory bone, the thing hadn’t any interest for me because it hadn’t any value, and couldn’t help me out of my trouble. But now—why, now it is full of interest; yes, and of a sort to break a body’s heart. It’s a bag of gold that has turned to dirt and ashes in my hands. It could save me, and save me so easily, and yet I’ve got to go to ruin. It’s like drowning with a life-preserver in my reach. All the hard luck comes to me, and all the good luck goes to other people—Pudd’nhead Wilson, for instance; even his career has got a sort of a little start at last, and what has he done to deserve it, I should like to know? Yes, he has opened his own road, but he isn’t content with that, but must block mine. It’s a sordid, selfish world, and I wish I was out of it.” He allowed the light of the candle to play upon the jewels of the sheath, but the flashings and sparklings had no charm for his eye; they were only just so many pangs to his heart. “I must not say anything to Roxy about this thing,” he said, “she is too daring. She would be fordigging these stones out and selling them, and then—why, she would be arrested and the stones traced, and then—” The thought made him quake, and he hid the knife away, trembling all over and glancing furtively about, like a criminal who fancies that the accuser is already at hand.
Should he try to sleep? Oh, no, sleep was not for him; his trouble was too haunting, too afflicting for that. He must have somebody to mourn with. He would carry his despair to Roxy.
He had heard several distant gunshots, but that sort of thing was not uncommon, and they had made no impression upon him. He went out at the back door, and turned westward. He passed Wilson’s house and proceeded along the lane, and presently saw several figures approaching Wilson’s place through the vacant lots. These were the duelists returning from the fight; he thought he recognized them, but as he had no desire for white people’s company, he stooped down behind the fence until they were out of his way.
Roxy was feeling fine. She said:
“Whah was you, child? Warn’t you in it?”
“In what?”
“In de duel.”
“Duel? Has there been a duel?”
“’Co’se dey has. De ole Jedge has be’n havin’ a duel wid one o’ dem twins.”
“Great Scott!” Then he added to himself: “That’s what made him re-make the will; he thought he might get killed, and it softened him toward me. And that’s what he and Howard were so busy about.… Oh dear, if the twin had only killed him, I should be out of my—”
“What is you mumblin’ bout, Chambers? Whah was you? Didn’t you know dey was gwyne to be a duel?”
“No, I didn’t. The old man tried to get me to fight one with Count Luigi, but he didn’t succeed, so I reckon he concluded to patch up the family honor himself.”
He laughed at the idea, and went rambling on with a detailed account of his talk with the Judge, and how shocked and ashamed the Judge was to find that he had a coward in his family. He glanced up at last, and got ashock himself. Roxana’s bosom was heaving with suppressed passion, and she was glowering down upon him with measureless contempt written in her face.
“En you refuse’ to fight a man dat kicked you, ’stid o’ jumpin’ at de chance! En you ain’t got no mo’ feelin’ den to come en tell me, dat fetched sich a po’ low-down ornery rabbit into de worl’! Pah! it make me sick! It’s de nigger in you, dat’s what it is. Thirty-one parts o’ you is white, en on’y one part nigger, en dat po’ little one part is yo’soul. Tain’t wuth savin’; tain’t wuth totin’ out on a shovel en throwin’ in de gutter. You has disgraced yo’ birth. What would yo’ pa think o’ you? It’s enough to make him turn in his grave.”
The last three sentences stung Tom into a fury, and he said to himself that if his father were only alive and in reach of assassination his mother would soon find that he had a very clear notion of the size of his indebtedness to that man, and was willing to pay it up in full, and would do it too, even at risk of his life; but he kept this thought to himself; that was safest in his mother’s present state.
“Whatever has come o’ yo’ Essex blood? Dat’s what I can’t understan’. En it ain’t on’y jist Essex blood dat’s in you, not by a long sight—’deed it ain’t! My great-great-great-gran’father en yo’ great-great-great-great-gran’father was Ole Cap’n John Smith, de highest blood dat Ole Virginny ever turned out, enhisgreat-great-gran’mother or somers along back dah, was Pocahontas de Injun queen, en her husbun’ was a nigger king outen Africa—en yit here you is, a slinkin’ outen a duel en disgracin’ our whole line like a ornery low-down hound! Yes, it’s de nigger in you!”
She sat down on her candle-box and fell into a reverie. Tom did not disturb her; he sometimes lacked prudence, but it was not in circumstances of this kind, Roxana’s storm went gradually down, but it died hard, and even when it seemed to be quite gone, it would now and then break out in a distant rumble, so to speak, in the form of muttered ejaculations. One of these was, “Ain’t nigger enough in him to show in his finger-nails, en dat takes mighty little—yit dey’s enough to paint his soul.”
Presently she muttered. “Yassir, enough to paint a whole thimbleful of ’em.” At last her ramblings ceased altogether, and her countenance began to clear—a welcome sign to Tom, who had learned her moods, and knew she was on the threshold of good-humor, now. He noticed that from time to time she unconsciously carried her finger to the end of her nose. He looked closer and said:
“Why, mammy, the end of your nose is skinned. How did that come?”
She sent out the sort of whole-hearted peal of laughter which God had vouchsafed in its perfection to none but the happy angels in heaven and the bruised and broken black slave on the earth, and said:
“Dad fetch dat duel, I be’n in it myself.”
“Gracious! did a bullet do that?”
“Yassir, you bet it did!”
“Well, I declare! Why, how did that happen?”
“Happened dis-away. I ’uz a-sett’n’ here kinder dozin’ in de dark, enche-bang!goes a gun, right out dah. I skips along out towards t’other end o’ de house to see what’s gwyneon, en stops by de ole winder on de side towards Pudd’nhead Wilson’s house dat ain’t got no sash in it,—but dey ain’t none of ’em got any sashes, fur as dat’s concerned,—en I stood dah in de dark en look out, en dar in de moonlight, right down under me ’uz one o’ de twins a-cussin’—not much, but jist a-cussin’ soft—it ’uz de brown one dat ’uz cussin’, ’ca’se he ’uz hit in de shoulder. En Doctor Claypool he ’uz a-workin’ at him, en Pudd’nhead Wilson he ’uz a-he’pin’, en ole Jedge Driscoll en Pem Howard ’uz a-standin’ out yonder a little piece waitin’ for ’em to git ready agin. En treckly dey squared off en give de word, enbang-bangwent de pistols, en de twin he say, ‘Ouch!’—hit him on de han’ dis time,—en I hear dat same bullet gospat!ag’in, de logs under de winder; en de nex’ time dey shoot, de twin say, ‘Ouch!’ ag’in, en I done it too, ’ca’se de bullet glance’ on his cheek-bone en skip up here en glance on de side o’ de winder en whiz right acrost my face en tuck de hide off’n my nose—why, if I’d ’a’ be’n jist a inch or a inch en a half furder ’t would ’a’ tuck de whole nose en disfiggered me. Here’s de bullet; I hunted her up.”
“Did you stand there all the time?”
“Dat’s a question to ask, ain’t it? What else would I do? Does I git a chance to see a duel every day?”
“Why, you were right in range! Weren’t you afraid?”
The woman gave a sniff of scorn.
“’Fraid! De Smith-Pocahontases ain’t ’fraid o’ nothin’, let alone bullets.”
“They’ve got pluck enough, I suppose; what they lack is judgment.Iwouldn’t have stood there.”
“Nobody’s accusin’ you!”
“Did anybody else get hurt?”
“Yes, we all got hit ’cep’ de blon’ twin en de doctor en de seconds. De Jedge didn’t git hurt, but I hear Pudd’nhead say de bullet snip some o’ his ha’r off.”
“’George!” said Tom to himself, “to come so near being out of my trouble, and miss it by an inch. Oh dear, dear, he will live to find me out and sell me to some nigger-trader yet—yes, and he would do it in a minute.” Then he said aloud, in a grave tone—
“Mother, we are in an awful fix.”
Roxana caught her breath with a spasm, and said—
“Chile! What you hit a body so sudden for, like dat? What’s be’n en gone en happen’?”
“Well, there’s one thing I didn’t tell you. When I wouldn’t fight, he tore up the will again, and—”
Roxana’s face turned a dead white, and she said—
“Now you’sdone!—done forever! Dat’s de end. Bofe un us is gwyne to starve to—”
“Wait and hear me through, can’t you! I reckon that when he resolved to fight, himself, he thought he might get killed and not have a chance to forgive me any more in this life, so he made the will again, and I’ve seen it, and it’s all right. But—”
“Oh, thank goodness, den we’s safe ag’in!—safe! en so what did you want to come here en talk sich dreadful—”
“Holdon, I tell you, and let me finish. The swag I gathered won’t half square me up, and the first thing we know, my creditors—well, you know what’ll happen.”
Roxana dropped her chin, and told her son to leave her alone—she must think this matter out. Presently she said impressively:
“You got to go mighty keerful now, I tell you! En here’s what you got to do. He didn’t git killed, en if you gives him de least reason, he’ll bust de will ag’in, en dat’s delas’time, now you hear me! So—you’s got to show him what you kin do in de nex’ few days. You’s got to be pison good, en let him see it; you got to do everything dat’ll make him b’lieve in you, en you got to sweeten aroun’ ole Aunt Pratt, too,—she’s pow’ful strong wid de Jedge, en de bes’ frien’ you got. Nex’, you’ll go ’long away to Sent Louis, en dat’llkeephim in yo’ favor. Den you go en make a bargain wid dem people. You tell ’em he ain’t gwyne to live long—en dat’s de fac’, too,—en tell ’em you’ll pay ’em intrust, en big intrust, too,—ten per—what you call it?”
“Ten per cent. a month?”
“Dat’s it. Den you take and sell yo’ truck aroun’, a little at a time, en pay de intrust. How long will it las’?”
“I think there’s enough to pay the interest five or six months.”
“Den you’s all right. If he don’t die in six months, dat don’t make no diff’rence—Providence’ll provide. You’s gwyne to be safe—if you behaves.” She bent an austere eye on him and added, “En youisgwyne to behave—does you know dat?”
He laughed and said he was going to try, anyway. She did not unbend. She said gravely:
“Tryin’ ain’t de thing. You’s gwyne todoit. You ain’t gwyne to steal a pin—’ca’se it ain’t safe no mo’; en you ain’t gwyne into no bad comp’ny—not even once, you understand; en you ain’t gwyne to drink a drop—nary single drop; en you ain’t gwyne to gamble one single gamble—not one! Dis ain’t what you’s gwyne totryto do, it’s what you’s gwyne todo. En I’ll tell you how I knows it. Dis is how. I’s gwyne to foller along to Sent Louis my own self; en you’s gwyne to come to me every day o’ yo’ life, en I’ll look you over; en if you fails in one single one o’ dem things—jistone—I take my oath I’llcome straight down to dis town en tell de Jedge you’s a nigger en a slave—enproveit!” She paused to let her words sink home. Then she added, “Chambers, does you b’lieve me when I says dat?”
Tom was sober enough now. There was no levity in his voice when he answered:
“Yes, mother, I know, now, that I am reformed—and permanently. Permanently—and beyond the reach of any human temptation.”
“Den g’ long home en begin!”
The Robber Robbed.
Nothing so needs reforming as other people’s habits.—Pudd’nhead Wilson’s Calendar.
Behold, the fool saith, “Put not all thine eggs in the one basket”—which is but a manner of saying, “Scatter your money and your attention;” but the wise man saith, “Put all your eggs in the one basket and—watch that basket”—Pudd’nhead Wilson’s Calendar.
Whata time of it Dawson’s Landing was having! All its life it had been asleep, but now it hardly got a chance for a nod, so swiftly did big events and crashing surprises come along in one another’s wake: Friday morning, first glimpse of Real Nobility, also grand reception at Aunt Patsy Cooper’s, also great robber-raid; Friday evening, dramatic kicking of the heir of the chief citizen in presence of four hundred people; Saturday morning, emergence as practising lawyer of the long-submerged Pudd’nhead Wilson; Saturdaynight, duel between chief citizen and titled stranger.
The people took more pride in the duel than in all the other events put together, perhaps. It was a glory to their town to have such a thing happen there. In their eyes the principals had reached the summit of human honor. Everybody paid homage to their names; their praises were in all mouths. Even the duelists’ subordinates came in for a handsome share of the public approbation: wherefore Pudd’nhead Wilson was suddenly become a man of consequence. When asked to run for the mayoralty Saturday night he was risking defeat, but Sunday morning found him a made man and his success assured.
The twins were prodigiously great, now; the town took them to its bosom with enthusiasm. Day after day, and night after night, they went dining and visiting from house to house, making friends, enlarging and solidifying their popularity, and charming and surprising all with their musical prodigies, and now and then heightening the effects with samples of what they could do in other directions,out of their stock of rare and curious accomplishments. They were so pleased that they gave the regulation thirty days’ notice, the required preparation for citizenship, and resolved to finish their days in this pleasant place. That was the climax. The delighted community rose as one man and applauded; and when the twins were asked to stand for seats in the forthcoming aldermanic board, and consented, the public contentment was rounded and complete.
Tom Driscoll was not happy over these things; they sunk deep, and hurt all the way down. He hated the one twin for kicking him, and the other one for being the kicker’s brother.
Now and then the people wondered why nothing was heard of the raider, or of the stolen knife or the other plunder, but nobody was able to throw any light on that matter. Nearly a week had drifted by, and still the thing remained a vexed mystery.
On Saturday Constable Blake and Pudd’nhead Wilson met on the street, and Tom Driscoll joined them in time to open theirconversation for them. He said to Blake—“You are not looking well, Blake; you seem to be annoyed about something. Has anything gone wrong in the detective business? I believe you fairly and justifiably claim to have a pretty good reputation in that line, isn’t it so?”—which made Blake feel good, and look it; but Tom added, “for a country detective”—which made Blake feel the other way, and not only look it, but betray it in his voice—
“Yes, sir, Ihavegot a reputation; and it’s as good as anybody’s in the profession, too, country or no country.”
“Oh, I beg pardon; I didn’t mean any offense. What I started out to ask was only about the old woman that raided the town—the stoop-shouldered old woman, you know, that you said you were going to catch; and I knew you would, too, because you have the reputation of never boasting, and—well, you—you’ve caught the old woman?”
“D——— the old woman!”
“Why, sho! you don’t mean to say you haven’t caught her?”
“No; I haven’t caught her. If anybody could have caught her, I could; but nobody couldn’t, I don’t care who he is.”
“I am sorry, real sorry—for your sake; because, when it gets around that a detective has expressed himself so confidently, and then—”
“Don’t you worry, that’s all—don’t you worry; and as for the town, the town needn’t worry, either. She’s my meat—make yourself easy about that. I’m on her track; I’ve got clues that—”
“That’s good! Now if you could get an old veteran detective down from St. Louis to help you find out what the clues mean, and where they lead to, and then—”
“I’m plenty veteran enough myself, and I don’t need anybody’s help. I’ll have her inside of a we—inside of a month. That I’ll swear to!”
Tom said carelessly—
“I suppose that will answer—yes, that will answer. But I reckon she is pretty old, and old people don’t often outlive the cautious pace of the professional detective whenhe has got his clues together and is out on his still-hunt.”
Blake’s dull face flushed under this gibe, but before he could set his retort in order Tom had turned to Wilson, and was saying, with placid indifference of manner and voice—
“Who got the reward, Pudd’nhead?”
Wilson winced slightly, and saw that his own turn was come.
“What reward?”
“Why, the reward for the thief, and the other one for the knife.”
Wilson answered—and rather uncomfortably, to judge by his hesitating fashion of delivering himself—
“Well, the—well, in fact, nobody has claimed it yet.”
Tom seemed surprised.
“Why, is that so?”
Wilson showed a trifle of irritation when he replied—
“Yes, it’s so. And what of it?”
“Oh, nothing. Only I thought you had struck out a new idea, and invented a scheme that was going to revolutionize the time-wornand ineffectual methods of the—” He stopped, and turned to Blake, who was happy now that another had taken his place on the gridiron: “Blake, didn’t you understand him to intimate that it wouldn’t be necessary for you to hunt the old woman down?”
“B’George, he said he’d have thief and swag both inside of three days—he did, by hokey! and that’s just about a week ago. Why, I said at the time that no thief and no thief’s pal was going to try to pawn or sell a thing where he knowed the pawnbroker could get both rewards by takinghiminto campwiththe swag. It was the blessedest idea that everIstruck!”
“You’d change your mind,” said Wilson, with irritated bluntness, “if you knew the entire scheme instead of only part of it.”
“Well,” said the constable, pensively, “I had the idea that it wouldn’t work, and up to now I’m right anyway.”
“Very well, then, let it stand at that, and give it a further show. It has worked at least as well as your own methods, you perceive.”
The constable hadn’t anything handy to hit back with, so he discharged a discontented sniff, and said nothing.
After the night that Wilson had partly revealed his scheme at his house, Tom had tried for several days to guess out the secret of the rest of it, but had failed. Then it occurred to him to give Roxana’s smarter head a chance at it. He made up a supposititious case, and laid it before her. She thought it over, and delivered her verdict upon it. Tom said to himself, “She’s hit it, sure!” He thought he would test that verdict, now, and watch Wilson’s face; so he said reflectively—
“Wilson, you’re not a fool—a fact of recent discovery. Whatever your scheme was, it had sense in it, Blake’s opinion to the contrary notwithstanding. I don’t ask you to reveal it, but I will suppose a case—a case which will answer as a starting-point for the real thing I am going to come at, and that’s all I want. You offered five hundred dollars for the knife, and five hundred for the thief. We will suppose, for argument’s sake, that the first reward isadvertisedand the secondoffered byprivate letterto pawnbrokers and—”
Blake slapped his thigh, and cried out—
“By Jackson, he’s got you, Pudd’nhead! Now why couldn’t I oranyfool have thought of that?”
Wilson said to himself, “Anybody with a reasonably good head would have thought of it. I am not surprised that Blake didn’t detect it; I am only surprised that Tom did. There is more to him than I supposed.” He said nothing aloud, and Tom went on:
“Very well. The thief would not suspect that there was a trap, and he would bring or send the knife, and say he bought it for a song, or found it in the road, or something like that, and try to collect the reward, and be arrested—wouldn’t he?”
“Yes,” said Wilson.
“I think so,” said Tom. “There can’t be any doubt of it. Have you ever seen that knife?”
“No.”
“Has any friend of yours?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Well, I begin to think I understand why your scheme failed.”
“What do you mean, Tom? What are you driving at?” asked Wilson, with a dawning sense of discomfort.
“Why, that thereisn’tany such knife.”
“Look here, Wilson,” said Blake, “Tom Driscoll’s right, for a thousand dollars—if I had it.”
Wilson’s blood warmed a little, and he wondered if he had been played upon by those strangers; it certainly had something of that look. But what could they gain by it? He threw out that suggestion. Tom replied:
“Gain? Oh, nothing that you would value, maybe. But they are strangers making their way in a new community. Is it nothing to them to appear as pets of an Oriental prince—at no expense? Is it nothing to them to be able to dazzle this poor little town with thousand-dollar rewards—at no expense? Wilson, there isn’t any such knife, or your scheme would have fetched it to light. Or if there is any such knife, they’ve got it yet. I believe, myself, that they’ve seen such aknife, for Angelo pictured it out with his pencil too swiftly and handily for him to have been inventing it, and of course I can’t swear that they’ve never had it; but this I’ll go bail for—if they had it when they came to this town, they’ve got it yet.”
Blake said—
“It looks mighty reasonable, the way Tom puts it; it most certainly does.”
Tom responded, turning to leave—
“You find the old woman, Blake, and if she can’t furnish the knife, go and search the twins!”
Tom sauntered away. Wilson felt a good deal depressed. He hardly knew what to think. He was loath to withdraw his faith from the twins, and was resolved not to do it on the present indecisive evidence; but—well, he would think, and then decide how to act.
“Blake, what do you think of this matter?”
“Well, Pudd’nhead, I’m bound to say I put it up the way Tom does. They hadn’t the knife; or if they had it, they’ve got it yet.”
The men parted. Wilson said to himself:
“I believe they had it; if it had been stolen, the scheme would have restored it, that is certain. And so I believe they’ve got it yet.”
Tom had no purpose in his mind when he encountered those two men. When he began his talk he hoped to be able to gall them a little and get a trifle of malicious entertainment out of it. But when he left, he left in great spirits, for he perceived that just by pure luck and no troublesome labor he had accomplished several delightful things: he had touched both men on a raw spot and seen them squirm; he had modified Wilson’s sweetness for the twins with one small bitter taste that he wouldn’t be able to get out of his mouth right away; and, best of all, he had taken the hated twins down a peg with the community; for Blake would gossip around freely, after the manner of detectives, and within a week the town would be laughing at them in its sleeve for offering a gaudy reward for a bauble which they either never possessed or hadn’t lost. Tom was very well satisfied with himself.
Tom’s behavior at home had been perfect during the entire week. His uncle and aunt had seen nothing like it before. They could find no fault with him anywhere.
Saturday evening he said to the Judge—
“I’ve had something preying on my mind, uncle, and as I am going away, and might never see you again, I can’t bear it any longer. I made you believe I was afraid to fight that Italian adventurer. I had to get out of it on some pretext or other, and maybe I chose badly, being taken unawares, but no honorable person could consent to meet him in the field, knowing what I knew about him.”
“Indeed? What was that?”
“Count Luigi is a confessed assassin.”
“Incredible!”
“It’s perfectly true. Wilson detected it in his hand, by palmistry, and charged him with it, and cornered him up so close that he had to confess; but both twins begged us on their knees to keep the secret, and swore they would lead straight lives here; and it was all so pitiful that we gave our word of honor never to expose them while they kept thatpromise. You would have done it yourself, uncle.”
“You are right, my boy; I would. A man’s secret is still his own property, and sacred, when it has been surprised out of him like that. You did well, and I am proud of you.” Then he added mournfully, “But I wish I could have been saved the shame of meeting an assassin on the field of honor.”
“It couldn’t be helped, uncle. If I had known you were going to challenge him I should have felt obliged to sacrifice my pledged word in order to stop it, but Wilson couldn’t be expected to do otherwise than keep silent.”
“Oh, no; Wilson did right, and is in no way to blame. Tom, Tom, you have lifted a heavy load from my heart; I was stung to the very soul when I seemed to have discovered that I had a coward in my family.”
“You may imagine what it costmeto assume such a part, uncle.”
“Oh, I know it, poor boy, I know it. And I can understand how much it has cost you to remain under that unjust stigma to this time.But it is all right now, and no harm is done. You have restored my comfort of mind, and with it your own; and both of us had suffered enough.”
The old man sat awhile plunged in thought; then he looked up with a satisfied light in his eye, and said: “That this assassin should have put the affront upon me of letting me meet him on the field of honor as if he were a gentleman is a matter which I will presently settle—but not now. I will not shoot him until after election. I see a way to ruin them both before; I will attend to that first. Neither of them shall be elected, that I promise. You are sure that the fact that he is an assassin has not got abroad?”
“Perfectly certain of it, sir.”
“It will be a good card. I will fling a hint at it from the stump on the polling-day. It will sweep the ground from under both of them.”
“There’s not a doubt of it. It will finish them.”
“That and outside work among the voters will, to a certainty. I want you to comedown here by and by and work privately among the rag-tag and bobtail. You shall spend money among them; I will furnish it.”
Another point scored against the detested twins! Really it was a great day for Tom. He was encouraged to chance a parting shot, now, at the same target, and did it.
“You know that wonderful Indian knife that the twins have been making such a to-do about? Well, there’s no track or trace of it yet; so the town is beginning to sneer and gossip and laugh. Half the people believe they never had any such knife, the other half believe they had it and have got it still. I’ve heard twenty people talking like that to-day.”
Yes, Tom’s blemishless week had restored him to the favor of his aunt and uncle.
His mother was satisfied with him, too. Privately, she believed she was coming to love him, but she did not say so. She told him to go along to St. Louis, now, and she would get ready and follow. Then she smashed her whisky bottle and said—
“Dah now! I’s a-gwyne to make youwalk as straight as a string, Chambers, en so I’s bown’ you ain’t gwyne to git no bad example out o’ yo’ mammy. I tole you you couldn’t go into no bad comp’ny. Well, you’s gwyne into my comp’ny, en I’s gwyne to fill de bill. Now, den, trot along, trot along!”
Tom went aboard one of the big transient boats that night with his heavy satchel of miscellaneous plunder, and slept the sleep of the unjust, which is serener and sounder than the other kind, as we know by the hanging-eve history of a million rascals. But when he got up in the morning, luck was against him again: A brother-thief had robbed him while he slept, and gone ashore at some intermediate landing.