I.
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.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.”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:
“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?”No, he was gone to Brixton, and might not return before
morning.
“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.”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:
“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—”
“Mercy on us, and the door not locked!”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:
“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.
“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.
“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.”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 isgamblers’ 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.”At eleven Mr. Richards arrived, and while his wife was saying
“I amsoglad 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.”
“I am so sorry for you, Edward, you know that; but be
comforted; we have our livelihood; we have our good
name—”
“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?”Then his wife told him the great secret. It dazed him
for a moment; then he said:
“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.”He skimmed through it and said:
“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—”
“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.”
“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.”
“But stop—stop—don’t leave me here alone with it,
Edward!”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.”
“It may be too late, Mr. Richards, but I’ll
see.”