“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!”
XV
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
What a 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; Saturday night, 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 their conversation 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, I have got 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 when he 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 timeworn and ineffectual methods of the—” He stopped, and turned to Blake, who was happy now that another had taken his
