Edwardbusy, but not so happy. Mary was planning what she would do with themoney. Edward was trying to recall that service. At first hisconscience was sore on account of the lie he had told Mary--if it was alie. After much reflection--suppose it _was_ a lie? What then? Was itsuch a great matter? Aren't we always _acting_ lies? Then why not tellthem? Look at Mary--look what she had done. While he was hurrying offon his honest errand, what was she doing? Lamenting because the papershadn't been destroyed and the money kept. Is theft better than lying?
_That_ point lost its sting--the lie dropped into the background and leftcomfort behind it. The next point came to the front: _had_ he renderedthat service? Well, here was Goodson's own evidence as reported inStephenson's letter; there could be no better evidence than that--it waseven _proof_ that he had rendered it. Of course. So that point wassettled. . . No, not quite. He recalled with a wince that this unknownMr. Stephenson was just a trifle unsure as to whether the performer of itwas Richards or some other--and, oh dear, he had put Richards on hishonour! He must himself decide whither that money must go--and Mr.Stephenson was not doubting that if he was the wrong man he would gohonourably and find the right one. Oh, it was odious to put a man insuch a situation--ah, why couldn't Stephenson have left out that doubt?What did he want to intrude that for?
Further reflection. How did it happen that _Richards's_ name remained inStephenson's mind as indicating the right man, and not some other man'sname? That looked good. Yes, that looked very good. In fact it went onlooking better and better, straight along--until by-and-by it grew intopositive _proof_. And then Richards put the matter at once out of hismind, for he had a private instinct that a proof once established isbetter left so.
He was feeling reasonably comfortable now, but there was still one otherdetail that kept pushing itself on his notice: of course he had done thatservice--that was settled; but what _was_ that service? He must recallit--he would not go to sleep till he had recalled it; it would make hispeace of mind perfect. And so he thought and thought. He thought of adozen things--possible services, even probable services--but none of themseemed adequate, none of them seemed large enough, none of them seemedworth the money--worth the fortune Goodson had wished he could leave inhis will. And besides, he couldn't remember having done them, anyway.Now, then--now, then--what _kind_ of a service would it be that wouldmake a man so inordinately grateful? Ah--the saving of his soul! Thatmust be it. Yes, he could remember, now, how he once set himself thetask of converting Goodson, and laboured at it as much as--he was goingto 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 thunderand mind his own business--_he_ wasn't hankering to follow Hadleyburg toheaven!
So that solution was a failure--he hadn't saved Goodson's soul. Richardswas discouraged. Then after a little came another idea: had he savedGoodson's property? No, that wouldn't do--he hadn't any. His life? Thatis it! Of course. Why, he might have thought of it before. This timehe was on the right track, sure. His imagination-mill was hard at workin a minute, now.
Thereafter, during a stretch of two exhausting hours, he was busy savingGoodson'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 reallyhappened, a troublesome detail would turn up which made the whole thingimpossible. As in the matter of drowning, for instance. In that case hehad swum out and tugged Goodson ashore in an unconscious state with agreat crowd looking on and applauding, but when he had got it all thoughtout and was just beginning to remember all about it, a whole swarm ofdisqualifying details arrived on the ground: the town would have known ofthe circumstance, Mary would have known of it, it would glare like alimelight in his own memory instead of being an inconspicuous servicewhich he had possibly rendered "without knowing its full value." And atthis point he remembered that he couldn't swim anyway.
Ah--_there_ was a point which he had been overlooking from the start: ithad to be a service which he had rendered "possibly without knowing thefull value of it." Why, really, that ought to be an easy hunt--mucheasier than those others. And sure enough, by-and-by he found it.Goodson, years and years ago, came near marrying a very sweet and prettygirl, named Nancy Hewitt, but in some way or other the match had beenbroken off; the girl died, Goodson remained a bachelor, and by-and-bybecame a soured one and a frank despiser of the human species. Soonafter the girl's death the village found out, or thought it had foundout, that she carried a spoonful of negro blood in her veins. Richardsworked at these details a good while, and in the end he thought heremembered things concerning them which must have gotten mislaid in hismemory through long neglect. He seemed to dimly remember that it was_he_ that found out about the negro blood; that it was he that told thevillage; that the village told Goodson where they got it; that he thussaved Goodson from marrying the tainted girl; that he had done him thisgreat service "without knowing the full value of it," in fact withoutknowing that he _was_ 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 tohis benefactor and wishing he had a fortune to leave him. It was allclear and simple, now, and the more he went over it the more luminous andcertain it grew; and at last, when he nestled to sleep, satisfied andhappy, he remembered the whole thing just as if it had been yesterday. Infact, he dimly remembered Goodson's _telling_ him his gratitude once.Meantime Mary had spent six thousand dollars on a new house for herselfand a pair of slippers for her pastor, and then had fallen peacefully torest.
That same Saturday evening the postman had delivered a letter to each ofthe other principal citizens--nineteen letters in all. No two of theenvelopes were alike, and no two of the superscriptions were in the samehand, but the letters inside were just like each other in every detailbut one. They were exact copies of the letter received byRichards--handwriting and all--and were all signed by Stephenson, but inplace of Richards's name each receiver's own name appeared.
All night long eighteen principal citizens did what their caste-brotherRichards was doing at the same time--they put in their energies trying toremember what notable service it was that they had unconsciously doneBarclay Goodson. In no case was it a holiday job; still they succeeded.
And while they were at this work, which was difficult, their wives put inthe night spending the money, which was easy. During that one night thenineteen wives spent an average of seven thousand dollars each out of theforty thousand in the sack--a hundred and thirty-three thousandaltogether.
Next day there was a surprise for Jack Halliday. He noticed that thefaces of the nineteen chief citizens and their wives bore that expressionof peaceful and holy happiness again. He could not understand it,neither was he able to invent any remarks about it that could damage itor disturb it. And so it was his turn to be dissatisfied with life. Hisprivate guesses at the reasons for the happiness failed in all instances,upon examination. When he met Mrs. Wilcox and noticed the placid ecstasyin her face, he said to himself, "Her cat has had kittens"--and went andasked the cook; it was not so, the cook had detected the happiness, butdid not know the cause. When Halliday found the duplicate ecstasy in theface of "Shadbelly" Billson (village nickname), he was sure someneighbour of Billson's had broken his leg, but inquiry showed that thishad not happened. The subdued ecstasy in Gregory Yates's face could meanbut one thing--he was a mother-in-law short; it was another mistake. "AndPinkerton--Pinkerton--he has collected ten cents that he thought he wasgoing to lose." And so on, and so on. In some cases the guesses had toremain in doubt, in the others they proved distinct errors. In the endHalliday said to himself, "Anyway it roots up that there's nineteenHadleyburg families temporarily in heaven: I don't know how it happened;I only know Providence is off duty to-day."
An architect and builder from the next State had lately ventured to
setup a small business in this unpromising village, and his sign had nowbeen 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 oneand then another chief citizen's wife said to him privately:
"Come to my house Monday week--but say nothing about it for the present.We think of building."
He got eleven invitations that day. That night he wrote his daughter andbroke off her match with her student. He said she could marry a milehigher than that.
Pinkerton the banker and two or three other well-to-do men plannedcountry-seats--but waited. That kind don't count their chickens untilthey are hatched.
The Wilsons devised a grand new thing--a fancy-dress ball. They made noactual promises, but told all their