“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 ferryboat 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 told me so—and it just happens that they was robbed houses, 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, “is that gone?”
“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 there 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 that if 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 at the 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.
XIV
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
About the 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! Tonight! 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
