The Man That Corrupted Hadleyburg | Page 6

It
would have turned everybody against me. I felt mean, ever so mean; ut

I didn't dare; I hadn't the manliness to face that."
Mary looked troubled, and for a while was silent. Then she said
stammeringly:
"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!"
"It would have lost us the good-will of so many people, Mary; and
then--and then--"
"What troubles me now is, what HE thinks of us, Edward."
"He? HE doesn't suspect that I could have saved him."
"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 'YOUR FRIEND 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."
"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."
"Edward! If the town had found it out--"
"DON'T! 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."
"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!"
"It won't."
"Why?"

"Because everybody thinks it was Goodson."
"Of course they would!"
"Certainly. And of course HE 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 GENERAL 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.'"
"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."
"It settled the business, and saved us, Mary. The subject was dropped."
"Bless you, I'm not doubting THAT."
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! . .