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这件事已经过去多年了。当时哈德莱堡是四里八乡最诚实、最正直的一个镇子。它把这种从没有污点的名望一直保持了三辈儿，并且以此为荣，把这种名望看得重于它拥有的其他一切。这种自豪感是如此强烈，保持这种荣誉的愿望是如此迫切，以至于镇子里的婴儿在摇篮里就开始接受诚实信念的熏陶，而且，这一类的教诲还要作为主要内容，在以后对他们进行教育时贯穿始终。另外，在整个发育期里，青年人要与一切彻底隔绝，这样，他们的诚实就能够利用一点一滴的机会变得坚定而牢固，成为他们的主心骨。邻近的那些镇子都嫉妒这种至高无上的荣耀，他们表面上对哈德莱堡人以诚实为荣冷嘲热讽，说那是虚荣心作怪；然而，他们也不得不承认哈德莱堡的的确确是一个腐蚀不了的镇子；再追问下去，他们还会承认：一个想离家出外找一个好工作的青年人，如果他是从哈德莱堡出去的，那么，他除了自己老家的牌子以外，就用不着带什么推荐信了。
然而，日久天长，哈德莱堡因为得罪一位过路的外地人终于倒了霉——这件事他们也许出于无心，肯定也没有在意，因为哈德莱堡功德，所以，无论是外乡人的闲言碎语，还是高谈阔论，哈德莱堡人都无须在意。可话又说了回来，早知此人是个爱记仇、不好惹的家伙，当初对他破破例不就万事大吉了吗？整整一年的功夫，那人无论走到哪儿，肚子里总憋着在哈德莱堡受的委屈，只要一有空闲，就挖空心思地琢磨怎么能报复一下，让自己心里舒坦。他想了好多好多的主意，这些主意全都不错，可没有一个十全十美的；要害之处在于：这些主意只能一个一个地伤害好多人，而他想要的却是能把全镇一网打尽的办法，不能有一条未受伤害的漏网之鱼。最后他灵机一动，想到了一个主意，这主意刚冒出来，他的脑海中就被幸灾乐祸的光芒照得通明透亮。他马上开始拟定一项实施方案，还自言自语地说：“就这么办——我要把那个镇子拉下水！”
六个月之后，他坐着一辆轻便马车再次来到哈德莱堡，约摸晚上十点钟左右，马车停在了银行老出纳员的大门外。他从马车上搬下一只口袋，扛着它跌跌撞撞地穿过院子，敲了敲门。一个女人的声音说了声“请进”，他就进去了。他把那只口袋放在客厅里火炉的后面，客客气气地向正在灯下坐着看《教友导报》的老太太说：
“您只管坐着好了，太太，我不打扰您。好了——现在这东得严严实实；谁想知道它在哪儿可不容易了。太太，我能见见您先生吗？”
“不成，他上布里克斯顿了，也许过半夜才能回来。”
“很好，太太，这不要紧。我只不过是想让您先生照管一下这只口袋，如果他找到了物主，就转交给他。我是外地人，您先生不认识我；今天夜里我是特意路经这个镇子，了却我搁了好久的一桩心事。现在事情已经办妥，我可以走了，我很高兴，还稍稍有点儿得意，以后你们再也不会见到我了。口袋上别着一张字条，上面把所有的事都说清楚了。晚安，太太。”
这位老太太害怕这个神山鬼没的大个子外地人，见他走了心里才踏实。不过她的好奇心被引逗了起来，就直奔口袋而去，取下了那张字条。上面开头的话是：
请予公布；或者用私访的办法找到物主——只要能找到物主，无论哪一种办法皆可。这个口袋里装的是金币，重一百六十磅零四盎司——
“老天，门没锁呀！”
理查兹太太哆哆嗦嗦地扑过去把门锁上，然后把窗帘放下来，战战兢兢地站在那儿，提心吊胆，思量还有什么办法能让自己和那一口袋钱更保险一点儿。她竖起耳朵听听有没有贼，过了一会儿，她抵挡不住好奇心，又回到灯下，看完了那张纸上的话：
我是个外国人，马上就要回本国去，在那里常住。我在贵国旗下逗留了很长时间，多蒙贵国关照，不胜感谢；对于贵国的一位公民——一位哈德莱堡的公民——我更想格外致以谢意，因为一两年前他有大恩于我。事实上，那是两桩恩德。容我细说端详。我曾经是个赌徒。我的意思是，我过去是个赌徒。一个输得精光的赌徒。那天夜里我来到这个镇子的时候，腹内空空，身无分文。我向人求告——是在黑影里，我不好意思在亮处乞讨。我求对人了。他给了我二十块钱——也可以说，他给了我一条命，我当时就是这么想的。他还给了我财运；因为我靠那笔钱在赌场里发了大财。还有最后一条：当时他对我说过的一句话我记在心上，直到如今。这句话最后让我口服心服；因为口服心服，我才良心发现，再也不赌了。现在我并不知道他是谁，可是我要找到他，让他得到这笔钱，至于他是把钱给人，扔掉，还是自己留着，全都由他。这只不过是我知恩图报的方式罢了。假士。我可以在此地逗留，我本来会自己去找他；不过没有关系。一定能找到他的。这是个诚实的镇子，腐蚀不了的镇子，我知道我可以信任它，不用担心。凭那位先生当年对我说的那句话，就可以确定哪一位是我的恩人；我相信他一定还记得那句话。
现在我有这样一个办法：假如您愿意进行私访，悉听尊便。把这张纸上写的话告诉每一个可能是那位先生的人，假如他回答说，“我就是那个人；我当初说过怎样的一句话，”就请核实一下——也就是说：打开口袋，您能在口袋里找到一个装着那句话的密封信袋。如果那位候选人所说的话与此相符，那就把这笔钱交给他，不用再问下去了，因为他无疑就是那位先生。
如果您愿意公开寻访，就请把这番话发表在本地报纸上——再加上如下说明，即：从当日起三十天内，请申领人于（星期五）晚八时光临镇公所，将他当初所说的话密封交给（如果他肯费心料理的话）伯杰斯牧师；请伯杰斯先生届时到场，把钱袋上的封条去掉，打开钱袋，看与袋内的话是否相符；如果相符，就请将这笔钱连同我的衷心谢意一起，交给我的这位已经确认身份的恩人。
理查兹太太坐下来，先是激动得颤颤巍巍，很快又陷入了沉思——她的思路如下：“这可真是件蹊跷事儿！……那个好心人蜻蜓点水施舍了几个小钱，瞧这份回报！……这件好事要是我丈夫干的就好了！——因为我们太穷了，这么老了，还这么穷！……”这时她叹了一口气——“可这并不是我的爱德华干的；不是，给外地人二十块钱的不是他。这可真不巧，真的；现在我明白了……”这时她打了个冷战——“不过，这是赌徒的钱哪！是不清不白得来的：这种钱咱们可不能拿，连沾都不能沾。我可要离它远远的；这钱一看就赃兮兮的。”她换了把远一点的椅子坐下来——“我盼着爱德华回来，把这钱拿到银行去；说不定什么时候小偷就会来；一个人在这儿守着它真难熬啊。”
十一点钟的时候，理查兹先生回来了，他妻子迎头就说：“你可回来了！”他却说：“我太累了——累得要死；过穷日子可真不容易，到了这个岁数还要出这种苦差。就为那点儿薪水，熬来熬去熬不出头，……给人家当奴才；可人家趿拉着拖鞋在家里坐着，有的是钱，真舒坦哪。”
“为了你，我有多难过呀，爱德华，这你都知道；不过，你得想开点儿：咱们的日子总算还过得去；咱们的名声也不错……”
“是呀，玛丽，这比什么都要紧哪。我刚才说的话你别放在心上——我就是一阵儿想不开，算不了什么。亲亲我——好了，什么事也没了，我也不再发牢骚了。你弄什么东西来了？口袋里有什么？”
于是，他妻子把那个天大的秘密告诉了他。一阵天旋地转之后，他说：
“一百六十磅重？唉，玛丽，那得有四——万——块钱哪——想想——一大笔财产啊！咱们镇子上有这么多财产的人过不了十个。给我看看那张纸。”
他把那张字条扫了一遍，说：
“这可是出了奇了！嘿，简直就像小说一样；和书上那些没影的事一样，平常谁见过这样的事呀。”这时他激动起来，神采奕奕，兴高采烈。他打着哈哈弹弹老太婆的脸蛋儿，说：“嗨，咱们发财了，玛丽，发财了。咱们只要把这些钱埋起来；把这张纸一烧就行了。要是那个赌徒再来打听，咱们只要爱理不理地瞪着他，说：‘你说什么胡话呀？我们从来没听说过你，也没听说过你那条什么金子口袋。’那时候，他就傻了眼，还有——”
“还有，你就顺嘴说笑话吧，那一袋子钱可还堆在这儿哪，眼看就要到贼出门的时候了。”
“你说得对。好吧，那咱们怎么办呢——私访？不行，不能这么办：那可就把这篇小说糟蹋啦。还是挑明了好。想想看，这件事得闹出多大的动静来！还不让别的镇子全都嫉妒死。在这种事情上，除了哈德莱堡，一个外乡人还能信得过谁呀，这一点他们心里都有数。这不是给咱们镇子金榜题名吗。我现在就得到报馆的印刷厂去，要不然就来不及了。”
“慢着——慢着——别把我一个人留在这儿守着它呀，爱德华！”
可是他已经走了。不过只走了一小会儿。在离家不远的地方，他就遇见了报馆的主笔兼老板。理查兹把那篇文字交给他说：“我有一篇好东西给你，考克斯——登出来吧。”
“可能太晚了，理查兹先生，不过我看一看吧。”
回到家里，他和妻子坐下来又把这件迷人的蹊跷事谈论了一遍；两个人一丝睡意都没有。第一个问题是，那位给过外乡人二十块钱的公民会是谁呢？这个问题似乎很简单；夫妻俩不约而同地说了出来：
“巴克利·古德森。”
“不错，”理查兹说，“这样的事他干得出来，这也正是他的作派，像他这样的人镇子里再也挑不出第二个了。”
“谁都会这么说，爱德华——不管当众怎么样，背后谁都会这么说。到如今有六个月了吧，咱们镇子又变成原来那个老样子啦——诚实，小心眼，老子天下第一，还老虎屁股摸不得。”
“他向来都是这么说的，一直说到咽气的那一天——还一点儿都不避人。”
“是呀，就为了这个，他才遭人恨。”
“嗨，就是；不过他倒不在乎。叫我说，除了伯杰斯牧师，在咱们这些人当中，最遭人恨的就是他了。”
“可伯杰斯遭人恨是活该呀——在这块地方，他再也别想有人听他布道了。虽说这镇子也没什么出息，可人们对他总还是心里有数的。爱德华，这个外乡人指名让伯杰斯发这笔钱，这件事看起来是不是有点怪呀？”
“哎，对——是有点怪。那是——那是——”
“哪来的这么多‘那是’呀？换了你会挑他吗？”
“玛丽，说不定那个外乡人比这镇子上的人更了解他哪。”
“这话说得再多，也帮不了伯杰斯的忙！”
丈夫似乎左右为难，不知说什么好；妻子直瞪瞪地盯住他，等着他答话。理查兹后来犹犹豫豫地开口了，好像明知道他的话要受到质疑：
“玛丽，伯杰斯不是个坏人呀。”
他妻子自然是吃了一惊。
“胡说！”她叫了起来。
“他不是个坏人。这我明白。他人缘不好，都是因为那一件事——就是闹得沸沸扬扬的那一件事。”
“那‘一件事’，太对啦！就那‘一件事”还不够大么？”
“够大了。够大了。只不过那件事不是他的错啊。”
“你说什么！不是他的错！谁都知道，就是他作的孽！”
“玛丽，你听我的——他是清白的。”
“我没法相信，我不信。你是怎么知道的？”
“这是不打自招。我没脸说，可是我非得说出来不可。只有我一个人知道他清白。我本来能够救他，可是——可是——唉，你知道那时候全镇子上的人一边倒——我哪有勇气说出来呀。一说出来大家就都冲着我来了。我也觉得那样做不够意思，太不够意思了，可是我不敢哪；我没有勇气和众人对着干。”
玛丽一副心烦意乱的样子，一声不吭。过了一会儿，她吞吞吐吐地说：
“我——我想你就是——就是——也没有什么用处。人可不能——呃——大家伙的看法——不能不那么小心——那么——”这条路不大好走，她绕不出来了；可是，稍停一会儿，她又开了腔。“要说这件事是不大合适，可是——嗨，咱们顶不住呀，爱德华——真是顶不住啊。哎，无论如何，我也不愿让你说出来！”
“玛丽，假如说出来，不知会有多少人不拿正眼看咱们；那样一来——那样一来——”
“现在我担心的是他怎么看咱们，爱德华。”
“他？他可没想过我当初能够救他。”
“啊，”妻子松了一口气，嚷嚷着，“这样我就高兴了。只要他当初不知道你能够救他，他——他——呃，这件事就好办多了。唉，我原本就该想到他不知道，虽然咱们不大搭理他，可他老是想跟咱们套近乎。别人拿这件事挖苦我可不止一次了。像威尔逊两口子，威尔科克斯两口子，还有哈克内斯两口子，他们都话里有话地寻开心，明知道我面子上过不去，非要说‘你们的朋友伯杰斯’如何如何。我可不想让他一个劲儿缠着咱们；我不明白他为什么不撒手呢。”
“他为什么这样做我明白。这可又是不打自招了。那件事刚闹出来，正在沸沸扬扬的时候，镇上打算让他‘爬竿’。我被良心折磨得简直受不了，偷偷去给他通风报信，他就离开镇子，到外地避风去了，直躲到没事儿了才回来。”
“爱德华！当时镇上要是查出来——”
“别说了！直到现在我一想起来还害怕呢。那件事刚做完我就后悔了；所以我都没敢跟你说，就怕你脸上挂不住，被别人看出来。那天晚上，我心里嘀咕，一夜都没有合眼。可是过了几天，一看谁也没有怀疑，从那以后我又觉得干了那么一件事挺高兴。到现在我还高兴呢，玛丽——别提有多高兴了。”
“现在我也高兴啊，那样对待他也太可怕了。是呀，我挺高兴；你知道，你这样做才算对得起他。可是，爱德华，万一这件事哪天露了馅呢？”
“不会。”
“为什么？”
“因为谁都会以为那是古德森干的。”
“他们一定是这么想的！”
“就是。当然啦，他也不在乎大家这么想。大家撺掇那个可怜的索斯伯里老汉找他算账，老汉就照他们说的风风火火跑了去。古德森把老汉上上下下打量了一遍，好像要在索斯伯里身上找出一块自己特别瞧不起的地方，然后说：‘这么说，你是调查组的，是吗？’索斯伯里说：差不离吧。‘哦。依你说，他们是想仔仔细细地问呢，还是听点儿简单的就行了呢？’‘古德森先生，要是他们想仔仔细细地问，我就再来一趟；我先听简单的吧。’‘那太好了，你就让他们全都见他妈的鬼去——我觉得这够简单的了。索斯伯里，我再劝你几句；你再来仔仔细细打听的时候，带个篮子来，把你那几根老骨头提回家去。’”
“古德森就是这样；一点都没走样。他老是觉得他的主意比谁都强：他就这点虚荣心。”
“玛丽，这一来就万事大吉，把咱们给救了。那件事再也不会有人提了。”
“老天有眼，我想也不会有人提了。”
他们又兴致勃勃地把话头引回那袋神秘的金子上来。过了一会儿，他们的谈话开始有了停顿——因为沉思而停顿。停顿的次数越来越多。最后理查兹竟然想呆了。他坐了半天，神情茫然地盯着地板，慢慢地，他的两只手开始做一些神经质的小动作，圈点着心里的念头，好像是有点儿着急。这时候，他妻子也犯了病，一声不吭地想心事，从神态看得出她心乱如麻，不大自在。最后，理查兹站了起来，漫无目标地在房间里溜达，十个手指头在头发里蓖过来，蓖过去，就像一个梦游的人正做一个噩梦。后来，他好像是拿定了主意；一声不响地戴上帽子，大步流星地出门去了。他妻子还在皱着眉头想心事，好像没有发觉屋里只剩下她一个人了。她不时喃喃自语：可别把我们引到……可是——可是——我们真是太穷了，太穷了！……，可别把我们引到……啊，这碍别人的事吗？——再说谁也不会知道……可别把我们……”她的声音越来越小，后来只剩下嘴唇动弹。稍停，她抬头扫了一眼，半惊半喜地说——
“他去了！可是，天哪，也许太晚了——来不及了……也许还不晚——也许还来得及。”她起身站着想，神经质地一会儿把两手绞在一起，一会儿又松开。一阵轻微的颤栗掠过全身，她从干哑的嗓子挤出了声音：“上帝饶恕我吧——这念头真可怕呀——可是……上帝呀，看我们成什么样子啦——我们都变成怪物了！”
她把灯光拧小一点，蹑手蹑脚地溜到那只口袋旁跪下，用手触摸着鼓鼓囊囊的边边角角，爱不释手；年迈昏花的老眼中闪出一丝贪婪的光。她有时像灵魂出窍；有时又有一半清醒，嘟嘟囔囔地说：“我们要是能等一等就好了！——啊，只要等那么一小会儿，别那么着急就好了！”
这时候，考克斯也从办公室回到家里，把这件蹊跷事原原本本地告诉了自己的妻子，迫不及待地议论了一番之后，他们猜到了已故的古德森，认为全镇子的男人里头只有他才会慷慨解囊拿出二十块钱来，用这笔不小的数目去接济一个落难的外乡人。后来，他们的谈话停了下来，俩人默默无言地想起了心事。他们的神经越来越紧张，烦躁不安。最后妻子开口了，好像是自言自语：
“除了理查兹两口子……还有咱们，谁也不知道这个秘密……没有别人了。”
丈夫微微受到触动，从冥思苦想中解脱出来；他眼巴巴地瞪着脸色刷白的妻子；后来。他迟迟疑疑地站起身。偷偷地膜了一眼帽子，又瞟了一眼自己的妻子——这是无声的请示。考克斯太太三番两次欲言又止，后来她以手封喉，点头示意。很快，家里只剩下她一个人在那里自言自语了。
这时，理查兹和考克斯脚步匆匆，穿过阒无人迹的街道，迎头走来。两人气喘吁吁地在印刷厂的楼梯口碰了面；夜色中，他们相互打量着对方的脸色。考克斯悄悄地问：
“除了咱们，没人知道这件事吧？”
悄悄地回答：
“鬼都不知道——我担保，鬼都不知道！”
“要是还来得及——”
两个人上了楼梯；就在这时候，一个小伙子赶了上来，考克斯问道：
“是你吗，约翰尼？”
“是，先生。”
“你先不用发早班邮件——什么邮件都别发；等着，到时候我告诉你。”
“已经发走了，先生。”
“发走了？”话音里包含着难以言传的失望。
“是，先生。从今天起到布里克斯顿以远所有城镇的火车都改点了，先生——报纸要比往常早发二十分钟。我只好紧赶慢赶；要是再晚两分钟就——”
俩人没听他说完，就掉过头去慢慢走开了。大约有十分钟，两个人都没有出声；后来考克斯气哼哼地说：
“你究竟赶个什么劲呀，我真不明白。”
毕恭毕敬地回答：
“我现在明白了，你看，也不知道是怎么搞的，我老是不动脑子，想吃后悔药也来不及。不过下一次——”
“下一次个屁！一千年也不会有下一次了。”
这对朋友没道晚安就各奔东西；各自拖着两条腿走回家去，就像霜打了一样。回到家，他们的妻子都一跃而起，迫不及待地问“怎么样？”——她们用眼睛就得出了答案，不等听一字半句，自己先垂头丧气一屁股坐了下去。两家都发生了激烈的争论——这可是新鲜事；从前两口子也拌嘴，可是都不激烈，也没有撕破过脸面。今天夜里两家的口角就好像是一个师傅教出来的。理查兹太太说：
“爱德华，要是你等一等——要是你停下来琢磨琢磨呢；可是你不，你非要直奔报馆的印刷厂，把这件事嚷嚷出去，让天下的人都知道。”
“那上面是说了要发表呀。”
“说了又怎么样；那上面还说可以私访呢，只要你愿意才算数。现在可好——我没说错吧？”
“嗨，没错——没错，真是那么说的；不过，我一想这件事会闹得沸沸扬扬，一想到一个外乡人这么信得过哈德莱堡，这是多大的脸面——”
“啊，当然啦，这些我都明白；可是只要你等一等，仔细想想，不就能想起来已经找不到应该得这笔钱的人了吗。他已经进了棺材，也没有留下一男半女，连亲戚也没有；这么一来，这笔钱要是归了哪个急等用钱的人，对谁都没有妨碍呀，再说——再说——”
她说不下去，哭了起来。她丈夫本来是想找几句宽心话，可脱口而出的却是这么几句：
“可是，玛丽，别管怎么说，这样做肯定是最好的办法——肯定是；咱们心里有数。再说，咱们别忘了，这也是命啊——”
“命！嗬，一个人要是于了蠢事想找个借口，就说‘什么都是命啊！’要说命，这笔钱特地来到咱们家，不也是命吗？老天爷已经安排好的事，你非要插一杠子——谁给你这种权力啦？这叫瞎折腾，就是这么回事——敬酒不吃吃罚酒，你就别再装老实人、装规矩人啦——”
“可是，玛丽，你也知道咱们从小到大受的是什么教育，把咱们教的只要是老实事，想也不想就马上去做，全镇子上的人都是这样，这都变成咱们的第二天性——”
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 is GAMBLERS' 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 am SO glad 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."
At home again, he and his wife sat down to talk the charming mystery over; they were in no condition for sleep. The first question was, Who could the citizen have been who gave the stranger the twenty dollars? It seemed a simple one; both answered it in the same breath -
"Barclay Goodson."
"Yes," said Richards, "he could have done it, and it would have been like him, but there's not another in the town."
"Everybody will grant that, Edward--grant it privately, anyway. For six months, now, the village has been its own proper self once more- -honest, narrow, self-righteous, and stingy."
"It is what he always called it, to the day of his death--said it right out publicly, too."
"Yes, and he was hated for it."
"Oh, of course; but he didn't care. I reckon he was the best-hated man among us, except the Reverend Burgess."
"Well, Burgess deserves it--he will never get another congregation here. Mean as the town is, it knows how to estimate HIM. Edward, doesn't it seem odd that the stranger should appoint Burgess to deliver the money?"
"Well, yes--it does. That is--that is--"
"Why so much that-IS-ing? Would YOU select him?"
"Mary, maybe the stranger knows him better than this village does."
"Much THAT would help Burgess!"
The husband seemed perplexed for an answer; the wife kept a steady eye upon him, and waited. Finally Richards said, with the hesitancy of one who is making a statement which is likely to encounter doubt,
"Mary, Burgess is not a bad man."
His wife was certainly surprised.
"Nonsense!" she exclaimed.
"He is not a bad man. I know. The whole of his unpopularity had its foundation in that one thing--the thing that made so much noise."
"That 'one thing,' indeed! As if that 'one thing' wasn't enough, all by itself."
"Plenty. Plenty. Only he wasn't guilty of it."
"How you talk! Not guilty of it! Everybody knows he WAS guilty."
"Mary, I give you my word--he was innocent."
"I can't believe it and I don't. How do you know?"
"It is a confession. I am ashamed, but I will make it. I was the only man who knew he was innocent. I could have saved him, and-- and--well, you know how the town was wrought up--I hadn't the pluck to do it. 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! . . . Lead us not into . . . Ah, who would be hurt by it?--and no one would ever know . . . Lead us . . . " The voice died out in mumblings. After a little she glanced up and muttered in a half-frightened, half-glad way -
"He is gone! But, oh dear, he may be too late--too late . . . Maybe not--maybe there is still time." She rose and stood thinking, nervously clasping and unclasping her hands. A slight shudder shook her frame, and she said, out of a dry throat, "God forgive me--it's awful to think such things--but . . . Lord, how we are made--how strangely we are made!"
She turned the light low, and slipped stealthily over and knelt down by the sack and felt of its ridgy sides with her hands, and fondled them lovingly; and there was a gloating light in her poor old eyes. She fell into fits of absence; and came half out of them at times to mutter "If we had only waited!--oh, if we had only waited a little, and not been in such a hurry!"
Meantime Cox had gone home from his office and told his wife all about the strange thing that had happened, and they had talked it over eagerly, and guessed that the late Goodson was the only man in the town who could have helped a suffering stranger with so noble a sum as twenty dollars. Then there was a pause, and the two became thoughtful and silent. And by-and-by nervous and fidgety. At last the wife said, as if to herself,
"Nobody knows this secret but the Richardses . . . and us . . . nobody."
The husband came out of his thinkings with a slight start, and gazed wistfully at his wife, whose face was become very pale; then he hesitatingly rose, and glanced furtively at his hat, then at his wife--a sort of mute inquiry. Mrs. Cox swallowed once or twice, with her hand at her throat, then in place of speech she nodded her head. In a moment she was alone, and mumbling to herself.
And now Richards and Cox were hurrying through the deserted streets, from opposite directions. They met, panting, at the foot of the printing-office stairs; by the night-light there they read each other's face. Cox whispered:
"Nobody knows about this but us?"
The whispered answer was:
"Not a soul--on honour, not a soul!"
"If it isn't too late to--"
The men were starting up-stairs; at this moment they were overtaken by a boy, and Cox asked,
"Is that you, Johnny?"
"Yes, sir."
"You needn't ship the early mail--nor ANY mail; wait till I tell you."
"It's already gone, sir."
"GONE?" It had the sound of an unspeakable disappointment in it.
"Yes, sir. Time-table for Brixton and all the towns beyond changed to-day, sir--had to get the papers in twenty minutes earlier than common. I had to rush; if I had been two minutes later--"
The men turned and walked slowly away, not waiting to hear the rest. Neither of them spoke during ten minutes; then Cox said, in a vexed tone,
"What possessed you to be in such a hurry, I can't make out."
The answer was humble enough:
这件事已经过去多年了。当时哈德莱堡是四里八乡最诚实、最正直的一个镇子。它把这种从没有污点的名望一直保持了三辈儿，并且以此为荣，把这种名望看得重于它拥有的其他一切。这种自豪感是如此强烈，保持这种荣誉的愿望是如此迫切，以至于镇子里的婴儿在摇篮里就开始接受诚实信念的熏陶，而且，这一类的教诲还要作为主要内容，在以后对他们进行教育时贯穿始终。另外，在整个发育期里，青年人要与一切彻底隔绝，这样，他们的诚实就能够利用一点一滴的机会变得坚定而牢固，成为他们的主心骨。邻近的那些镇子都嫉妒这种至高无上的荣耀，他们表面上对哈德莱堡人以诚实为荣冷嘲热讽，说那是虚荣心作怪；然而，他们也不得不承认哈德莱堡的的确确是一个腐蚀不了的镇子；再追问下去，他们还会承认：一个想离家出外找一个好工作的青年人，如果他是从哈德莱堡出去的，那么，他除了自己老家的牌子以外，就用不着带什么推荐信了。
然而，日久天长，哈德莱堡因为得罪一位过路的外地人终于倒了霉——这件事他们也许出于无心，肯定也没有在意，因为哈德莱堡功德，所以，无论是外乡人的闲言碎语，还是高谈阔论，哈德莱堡人都无须在意。可话又说了回来，早知此人是个爱记仇、不好惹的家伙，当初对他破破例不就万事大吉了吗？整整一年的功夫，那人无论走到哪儿，肚子里总憋着在哈德莱堡受的委屈，只要一有空闲，就挖空心思地琢磨怎么能报复一下，让自己心里舒坦。他想了好多好多的主意，这些主意全都不错，可没有一个十全十美的；要害之处在于：这些主意只能一个一个地伤害好多人，而他想要的却是能把全镇一网打尽的办法，不能有一条未受伤害的漏网之鱼。最后他灵机一动，想到了一个主意，这主意刚冒出来，他的脑海中就被幸灾乐祸的光芒照得通明透亮。他马上开始拟定一项实施方案，还自言自语地说：“就这么办——我要把那个镇子拉下水！”
六个月之后，他坐着一辆轻便马车再次来到哈德莱堡，约摸晚上十点钟左右，马车停在了银行老出纳员的大门外。他从马车上搬下一只口袋，扛着它跌跌撞撞地穿过院子，敲了敲门。一个女人的声音说了声“请进”，他就进去了。他把那只口袋放在客厅里火炉的后面，客客气气地向正在灯下坐着看《教友导报》的老太太说：
“您只管坐着好了，太太，我不打扰您。好了——现在这东得严严实实；谁想知道它在哪儿可不容易了。太太，我能见见您先生吗？”
“不成，他上布里克斯顿了，也许过半夜才能回来。”
“很好，太太，这不要紧。我只不过是想让您先生照管一下这只口袋，如果他找到了物主，就转交给他。我是外地人，您先生不认识我；今天夜里我是特意路经这个镇子，了却我搁了好久的一桩心事。现在事情已经办妥，我可以走了，我很高兴，还稍稍有点儿得意，以后你们再也不会见到我了。口袋上别着一张字条，上面把所有的事都说清楚了。晚安，太太。”
这位老太太害怕这个神山鬼没的大个子外地人，见他走了心里才踏实。不过她的好奇心被引逗了起来，就直奔口袋而去，取下了那张字条。上面开头的话是：
请予公布；或者用私访的办法找到物主——只要能找到物主，无论哪一种办法皆可。这个口袋里装的是金币，重一百六十磅零四盎司——
“老天，门没锁呀！”
理查兹太太哆哆嗦嗦地扑过去把门锁上，然后把窗帘放下来，战战兢兢地站在那儿，提心吊胆，思量还有什么办法能让自己和那一口袋钱更保险一点儿。她竖起耳朵听听有没有贼，过了一会儿，她抵挡不住好奇心，又回到灯下，看完了那张纸上的话：
我是个外国人，马上就要回本国去，在那里常住。我在贵国旗下逗留了很长时间，多蒙贵国关照，不胜感谢；对于贵国的一位公民——一位哈德莱堡的公民——我更想格外致以谢意，因为一两年前他有大恩于我。事实上，那是两桩恩德。容我细说端详。我曾经是个赌徒。我的意思是，我过去是个赌徒。一个输得精光的赌徒。那天夜里我来到这个镇子的时候，腹内空空，身无分文。我向人求告——是在黑影里，我不好意思在亮处乞讨。我求对人了。他给了我二十块钱——也可以说，他给了我一条命，我当时就是这么想的。他还给了我财运；因为我靠那笔钱在赌场里发了大财。还有最后一条：当时他对我说过的一句话我记在心上，直到如今。这句话最后让我口服心服；因为口服心服，我才良心发现，再也不赌了。现在我并不知道他是谁，可是我要找到他，让他得到这笔钱，至于他是把钱给人，扔掉，还是自己留着，全都由他。这只不过是我知恩图报的方式罢了。假士。我可以在此地逗留，我本来会自己去找他；不过没有关系。一定能找到他的。这是个诚实的镇子，腐蚀不了的镇子，我知道我可以信任它，不用担心。凭那位先生当年对我说的那句话，就可以确定哪一位是我的恩人；我相信他一定还记得那句话。
现在我有这样一个办法：假如您愿意进行私访，悉听尊便。把这张纸上写的话告诉每一个可能是那位先生的人，假如他回答说，“我就是那个人；我当初说过怎样的一句话，”就请核实一下——也就是说：打开口袋，您能在口袋里找到一个装着那句话的密封信袋。如果那位候选人所说的话与此相符，那就把这笔钱交给他，不用再问下去了，因为他无疑就是那位先生。
如果您愿意公开寻访，就请把这番话发表在本地报纸上——再加上如下说明，即：从当日起三十天内，请申领人于（星期五）晚八时光临镇公所，将他当初所说的话密封交给（如果他肯费心料理的话）伯杰斯牧师；请伯杰斯先生届时到场，把钱袋上的封条去掉，打开钱袋，看与袋内的话是否相符；如果相符，就请将这笔钱连同我的衷心谢意一起，交给我的这位已经确认身份的恩人。
理查兹太太坐下来，先是激动得颤颤巍巍，很快又陷入了沉思——她的思路如下：“这可真是件蹊跷事儿！……那个好心人蜻蜓点水施舍了几个小钱，瞧这份回报！……这件好事要是我丈夫干的就好了！——因为我们太穷了，这么老了，还这么穷！……”这时她叹了一口气——“可这并不是我的爱德华干的；不是，给外地人二十块钱的不是他。这可真不巧，真的；现在我明白了……”这时她打了个冷战——“不过，这是赌徒的钱哪！是不清不白得来的：这种钱咱们可不能拿，连沾都不能沾。我可要离它远远的；这钱一看就赃兮兮的。”她换了把远一点的椅子坐下来——“我盼着爱德华回来，把这钱拿到银行去；说不定什么时候小偷就会来；一个人在这儿守着它真难熬啊。”
十一点钟的时候，理查兹先生回来了，他妻子迎头就说：“你可回来了！”他却说：“我太累了——累得要死；过穷日子可真不容易，到了这个岁数还要出这种苦差。就为那点儿薪水，熬来熬去熬不出头，……给人家当奴才；可人家趿拉着拖鞋在家里坐着，有的是钱，真舒坦哪。”
“为了你，我有多难过呀，爱德华，这你都知道；不过，你得想开点儿：咱们的日子总算还过得去；咱们的名声也不错……”
“是呀，玛丽，这比什么都要紧哪。我刚才说的话你别放在心上——我就是一阵儿想不开，算不了什么。亲亲我——好了，什么事也没了，我也不再发牢骚了。你弄什么东西来了？口袋里有什么？”
于是，他妻子把那个天大的秘密告诉了他。一阵天旋地转之后，他说：
“一百六十磅重？唉，玛丽，那得有四——万——块钱哪——想想——一大笔财产啊！咱们镇子上有这么多财产的人过不了十个。给我看看那张纸。”
他把那张字条扫了一遍，说：
“这可是出了奇了！嘿，简直就像小说一样；和书上那些没影的事一样，平常谁见过这样的事呀。”这时他激动起来，神采奕奕，兴高采烈。他打着哈哈弹弹老太婆的脸蛋儿，说：“嗨，咱们发财了，玛丽，发财了。咱们只要把这些钱埋起来；把这张纸一烧就行了。要是那个赌徒再来打听，咱们只要爱理不理地瞪着他，说：‘你说什么胡话呀？我们从来没听说过你，也没听说过你那条什么金子口袋。’那时候，他就傻了眼，还有——”
“还有，你就顺嘴说笑话吧，那一袋子钱可还堆在这儿哪，眼看就要到贼出门的时候了。”
“你说得对。好吧，那咱们怎么办呢——私访？不行，不能这么办：那可就把这篇小说糟蹋啦。还是挑明了好。想想看，这件事得闹出多大的动静来！还不让别的镇子全都嫉妒死。在这种事情上，除了哈德莱堡，一个外乡人还能信得过谁呀，这一点他们心里都有数。这不是给咱们镇子金榜题名吗。我现在就得到报馆的印刷厂去，要不然就来不及了。”
“慢着——慢着——别把我一个人留在这儿守着它呀，爱德华！”
可是他已经走了。不过只走了一小会儿。在离家不远的地方，他就遇见了报馆的主笔兼老板。理查兹把那篇文字交给他说：“我有一篇好东西给你，考克斯——登出来吧。”
“可能太晚了，理查兹先生，不过我看一看吧。”
回到家里，他和妻子坐下来又把这件迷人的蹊跷事谈论了一遍；两个人一丝睡意都没有。第一个问题是，那位给过外乡人二十块钱的公民会是谁呢？这个问题似乎很简单；夫妻俩不约而同地说了出来：
“巴克利·古德森。”
“不错，”理查兹说，“这样的事他干得出来，这也正是他的作派，像他这样的人镇子里再也挑不出第二个了。”
“谁都会这么说，爱德华——不管当众怎么样，背后谁都会这么说。到如今有六个月了吧，咱们镇子又变成原来那个老样子啦——诚实，小心眼，老子天下第一，还老虎屁股摸不得。”
“他向来都是这么说的，一直说到咽气的那一天——还一点儿都不避人。”
“是呀，就为了这个，他才遭人恨。”
“嗨，就是；不过他倒不在乎。叫我说，除了伯杰斯牧师，在咱们这些人当中，最遭人恨的就是他了。”
“可伯杰斯遭人恨是活该呀——在这块地方，他再也别想有人听他布道了。虽说这镇子也没什么出息，可人们对他总还是心里有数的。爱德华，这个外乡人指名让伯杰斯发这笔钱，这件事看起来是不是有点怪呀？”
“哎，对——是有点怪。那是——那是——”
“哪来的这么多‘那是’呀？换了你会挑他吗？”
“玛丽，说不定那个外乡人比这镇子上的人更了解他哪。”
“这话说得再多，也帮不了伯杰斯的忙！”
丈夫似乎左右为难，不知说什么好；妻子直瞪瞪地盯住他，等着他答话。理查兹后来犹犹豫豫地开口了，好像明知道他的话要受到质疑：
“玛丽，伯杰斯不是个坏人呀。”
他妻子自然是吃了一惊。
“胡说！”她叫了起来。
“他不是个坏人。这我明白。他人缘不好，都是因为那一件事——就是闹得沸沸扬扬的那一件事。”
“那‘一件事’，太对啦！就那‘一件事”还不够大么？”
“够大了。够大了。只不过那件事不是他的错啊。”
“你说什么！不是他的错！谁都知道，就是他作的孽！”
“玛丽，你听我的——他是清白的。”
“我没法相信，我不信。你是怎么知道的？”
“这是不打自招。我没脸说，可是我非得说出来不可。只有我一个人知道他清白。我本来能够救他，可是——可是——唉，你知道那时候全镇子上的人一边倒——我哪有勇气说出来呀。一说出来大家就都冲着我来了。我也觉得那样做不够意思，太不够意思了，可是我不敢哪；我没有勇气和众人对着干。”
玛丽一副心烦意乱的样子，一声不吭。过了一会儿，她吞吞吐吐地说：
“我——我想你就是——就是——也没有什么用处。人可不能——呃——大家伙的看法——不能不那么小心——那么——”这条路不大好走，她绕不出来了；可是，稍停一会儿，她又开了腔。“要说这件事是不大合适，可是——嗨，咱们顶不住呀，爱德华——真是顶不住啊。哎，无论如何，我也不愿让你说出来！”
“玛丽，假如说出来，不知会有多少人不拿正眼看咱们；那样一来——那样一来——”
“现在我担心的是他怎么看咱们，爱德华。”
“他？他可没想过我当初能够救他。”
“啊，”妻子松了一口气，嚷嚷着，“这样我就高兴了。只要他当初不知道你能够救他，他——他——呃，这件事就好办多了。唉，我原本就该想到他不知道，虽然咱们不大搭理他，可他老是想跟咱们套近乎。别人拿这件事挖苦我可不止一次了。像威尔逊两口子，威尔科克斯两口子，还有哈克内斯两口子，他们都话里有话地寻开心，明知道我面子上过不去，非要说‘你们的朋友伯杰斯’如何如何。我可不想让他一个劲儿缠着咱们；我不明白他为什么不撒手呢。”
“他为什么这样做我明白。这可又是不打自招了。那件事刚闹出来，正在沸沸扬扬的时候，镇上打算让他‘爬竿’。我被良心折磨得简直受不了，偷偷去给他通风报信，他就离开镇子，到外地避风去了，直躲到没事儿了才回来。”
“爱德华！当时镇上要是查出来——”
“别说了！直到现在我一想起来还害怕呢。那件事刚做完我就后悔了；所以我都没敢跟你说，就怕你脸上挂不住，被别人看出来。那天晚上，我心里嘀咕，一夜都没有合眼。可是过了几天，一看谁也没有怀疑，从那以后我又觉得干了那么一件事挺高兴。到现在我还高兴呢，玛丽——别提有多高兴了。”
“现在我也高兴啊，那样对待他也太可怕了。是呀，我挺高兴；你知道，你这样做才算对得起他。可是，爱德华，万一这件事哪天露了馅呢？”
“不会。”
“为什么？”
“因为谁都会以为那是古德森干的。”
“他们一定是这么想的！”
“就是。当然啦，他也不在乎大家这么想。大家撺掇那个可怜的索斯伯里老汉找他算账，老汉就照他们说的风风火火跑了去。古德森把老汉上上下下打量了一遍，好像要在索斯伯里身上找出一块自己特别瞧不起的地方，然后说：‘这么说，你是调查组的，是吗？’索斯伯里说：差不离吧。‘哦。依你说，他们是想仔仔细细地问呢，还是听点儿简单的就行了呢？’‘古德森先生，要是他们想仔仔细细地问，我就再来一趟；我先听简单的吧。’‘那太好了，你就让他们全都见他妈的鬼去——我觉得这够简单的了。索斯伯里，我再劝你几句；你再来仔仔细细打听的时候，带个篮子来，把你那几根老骨头提回家去。’”
“古德森就是这样；一点都没走样。他老是觉得他的主意比谁都强：他就这点虚荣心。”
“玛丽，这一来就万事大吉，把咱们给救了。那件事再也不会有人提了。”
“老天有眼，我想也不会有人提了。”
他们又兴致勃勃地把话头引回那袋神秘的金子上来。过了一会儿，他们的谈话开始有了停顿——因为沉思而停顿。停顿的次数越来越多。最后理查兹竟然想呆了。他坐了半天，神情茫然地盯着地板，慢慢地，他的两只手开始做一些神经质的小动作，圈点着心里的念头，好像是有点儿着急。这时候，他妻子也犯了病，一声不吭地想心事，从神态看得出她心乱如麻，不大自在。最后，理查兹站了起来，漫无目标地在房间里溜达，十个手指头在头发里蓖过来，蓖过去，就像一个梦游的人正做一个噩梦。后来，他好像是拿定了主意；一声不响地戴上帽子，大步流星地出门去了。他妻子还在皱着眉头想心事，好像没有发觉屋里只剩下她一个人了。她不时喃喃自语：可别把我们引到……可是——可是——我们真是太穷了，太穷了！……，可别把我们引到……啊，这碍别人的事吗？——再说谁也不会知道……可别把我们……”她的声音越来越小，后来只剩下嘴唇动弹。稍停，她抬头扫了一眼，半惊半喜地说——
“他去了！可是，天哪，也许太晚了——来不及了……也许还不晚——也许还来得及。”她起身站着想，神经质地一会儿把两手绞在一起，一会儿又松开。一阵轻微的颤栗掠过全身，她从干哑的嗓子挤出了声音：“上帝饶恕我吧——这念头真可怕呀——可是……上帝呀，看我们成什么样子啦——我们都变成怪物了！”
她把灯光拧小一点，蹑手蹑脚地溜到那只口袋旁跪下，用手触摸着鼓鼓囊囊的边边角角，爱不释手；年迈昏花的老眼中闪出一丝贪婪的光。她有时像灵魂出窍；有时又有一半清醒，嘟嘟囔囔地说：“我们要是能等一等就好了！——啊，只要等那么一小会儿，别那么着急就好了！”
这时候，考克斯也从办公室回到家里，把这件蹊跷事原原本本地告诉了自己的妻子，迫不及待地议论了一番之后，他们猜到了已故的古德森，认为全镇子的男人里头只有他才会慷慨解囊拿出二十块钱来，用这笔不小的数目去接济一个落难的外乡人。后来，他们的谈话停了下来，俩人默默无言地想起了心事。他们的神经越来越紧张，烦躁不安。最后妻子开口了，好像是自言自语：
“除了理查兹两口子……还有咱们，谁也不知道这个秘密……没有别人了。”
丈夫微微受到触动，从冥思苦想中解脱出来；他眼巴巴地瞪着脸色刷白的妻子；后来。他迟迟疑疑地站起身。偷偷地膜了一眼帽子，又瞟了一眼自己的妻子——这是无声的请示。考克斯太太三番两次欲言又止，后来她以手封喉，点头示意。很快，家里只剩下她一个人在那里自言自语了。
这时，理查兹和考克斯脚步匆匆，穿过阒无人迹的街道，迎头走来。两人气喘吁吁地在印刷厂的楼梯口碰了面；夜色中，他们相互打量着对方的脸色。考克斯悄悄地问：
“除了咱们，没人知道这件事吧？”
悄悄地回答：
“鬼都不知道——我担保，鬼都不知道！”
“要是还来得及——”
两个人上了楼梯；就在这时候，一个小伙子赶了上来，考克斯问道：
“是你吗，约翰尼？”
“是，先生。”
“你先不用发早班邮件——什么邮件都别发；等着，到时候我告诉你。”
“已经发走了，先生。”
“发走了？”话音里包含着难以言传的失望。
“是，先生。从今天起到布里克斯顿以远所有城镇的火车都改点了，先生——报纸要比往常早发二十分钟。我只好紧赶慢赶；要是再晚两分钟就——”
俩人没听他说完，就掉过头去慢慢走开了。大约有十分钟，两个人都没有出声；后来考克斯气哼哼地说：
“你究竟赶个什么劲呀，我真不明白。”
毕恭毕敬地回答：
“我现在明白了，你看，也不知道是怎么搞的，我老是不动脑子，想吃后悔药也来不及。不过下一次——”
“下一次个屁！一千年也不会有下一次了。”
这对朋友没道晚安就各奔东西；各自拖着两条腿走回家去，就像霜打了一样。回到家，他们的妻子都一跃而起，迫不及待地问“怎么样？”——她们用眼睛就得出了答案，不等听一字半句，自己先垂头丧气一屁股坐了下去。两家都发生了激烈的争论——这可是新鲜事；从前两口子也拌嘴，可是都不激烈，也没有撕破过脸面。今天夜里两家的口角就好像是一个师傅教出来的。理查兹太太说：
“爱德华，要是你等一等——要是你停下来琢磨琢磨呢；可是你不，你非要直奔报馆的印刷厂，把这件事嚷嚷出去，让天下的人都知道。”
“那上面是说了要发表呀。”
“说了又怎么样；那上面还说可以私访呢，只要你愿意才算数。现在可好——我没说错吧？”
“嗨，没错——没错，真是那么说的；不过，我一想这件事会闹得沸沸扬扬，一想到一个外乡人这么信得过哈德莱堡，这是多大的脸面——”
“啊，当然啦，这些我都明白；可是只要你等一等，仔细想想，不就能想起来已经找不到应该得这笔钱的人了吗。他已经进了棺材，也没有留下一男半女，连亲戚也没有；这么一来，这笔钱要是归了哪个急等用钱的人，对谁都没有妨碍呀，再说——再说——”
她说不下去，哭了起来。她丈夫本来是想找几句宽心话，可脱口而出的却是这么几句：
“可是，玛丽，别管怎么说，这样做肯定是最好的办法——肯定是；咱们心里有数。再说，咱们别忘了，这也是命啊——”
“命！嗬，一个人要是于了蠢事想找个借口，就说‘什么都是命啊！’要说命，这笔钱特地来到咱们家，不也是命吗？老天爷已经安排好的事，你非要插一杠子——谁给你这种权力啦？这叫瞎折腾，就是这么回事——敬酒不吃吃罚酒，你就别再装老实人、装规矩人啦——”
“可是，玛丽，你也知道咱们从小到大受的是什么教育，把咱们教的只要是老实事，想也不想就马上去做，全镇子上的人都是这样，这都变成咱们的第二天性——”
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 is GAMBLERS' 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 am SO glad 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."
At home again, he and his wife sat down to talk the charming mystery over; they were in no condition for sleep. The first question was, Who could the citizen have been who gave the stranger the twenty dollars? It seemed a simple one; both answered it in the same breath -
"Barclay Goodson."
"Yes," said Richards, "he could have done it, and it would have been like him, but there's not another in the town."
"Everybody will grant that, Edward--grant it privately, anyway. For six months, now, the village has been its own proper self once more- -honest, narrow, self-righteous, and stingy."
"It is what he always called it, to the day of his death--said it right out publicly, too."
"Yes, and he was hated for it."
"Oh, of course; but he didn't care. I reckon he was the best-hated man among us, except the Reverend Burgess."
"Well, Burgess deserves it--he will never get another congregation here. Mean as the town is, it knows how to estimate HIM. Edward, doesn't it seem odd that the stranger should appoint Burgess to deliver the money?"
"Well, yes--it does. That is--that is--"
"Why so much that-IS-ing? Would YOU select him?"
"Mary, maybe the stranger knows him better than this village does."
"Much THAT would help Burgess!"
The husband seemed perplexed for an answer; the wife kept a steady eye upon him, and waited. Finally Richards said, with the hesitancy of one who is making a statement which is likely to encounter doubt,
"Mary, Burgess is not a bad man."
His wife was certainly surprised.
"Nonsense!" she exclaimed.
"He is not a bad man. I know. The whole of his unpopularity had its foundation in that one thing--the thing that made so much noise."
"That 'one thing,' indeed! As if that 'one thing' wasn't enough, all by itself."
"Plenty. Plenty. Only he wasn't guilty of it."
"How you talk! Not guilty of it! Everybody knows he WAS guilty."
"Mary, I give you my word--he was innocent."
"I can't believe it and I don't. How do you know?"
"It is a confession. I am ashamed, but I will make it. I was the only man who knew he was innocent. I could have saved him, and-- and--well, you know how the town was wrought up--I hadn't the pluck to do it. 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! . . . Lead us not into . . . Ah, who would be hurt by it?--and no one would ever know . . . Lead us . . . " The voice died out in mumblings. After a little she glanced up and muttered in a half-frightened, half-glad way -
"He is gone! But, oh dear, he may be too late--too late . . . Maybe not--maybe there is still time." She rose and stood thinking, nervously clasping and unclasping her hands. A slight shudder shook her frame, and she said, out of a dry throat, "God forgive me--it's awful to think such things--but . . . Lord, how we are made--how strangely we are made!"
She turned the light low, and slipped stealthily over and knelt down by the sack and felt of its ridgy sides with her hands, and fondled them lovingly; and there was a gloating light in her poor old eyes. She fell into fits of absence; and came half out of them at times to mutter "If we had only waited!--oh, if we had only waited a little, and not been in such a hurry!"
Meantime Cox had gone home from his office and told his wife all about the strange thing that had happened, and they had talked it over eagerly, and guessed that the late Goodson was the only man in the town who could have helped a suffering stranger with so noble a sum as twenty dollars. Then there was a pause, and the two became thoughtful and silent. And by-and-by nervous and fidgety. At last the wife said, as if to herself,
"Nobody knows this secret but the Richardses . . . and us . . . nobody."
The husband came out of his thinkings with a slight start, and gazed wistfully at his wife, whose face was become very pale; then he hesitatingly rose, and glanced furtively at his hat, then at his wife--a sort of mute inquiry. Mrs. Cox swallowed once or twice, with her hand at her throat, then in place of speech she nodded her head. In a moment she was alone, and mumbling to herself.
And now Richards and Cox were hurrying through the deserted streets, from opposite directions. They met, panting, at the foot of the printing-office stairs; by the night-light there they read each other's face. Cox whispered:
"Nobody knows about this but us?"
The whispered answer was:
"Not a soul--on honour, not a soul!"
"If it isn't too late to--"
The men were starting up-stairs; at this moment they were overtaken by a boy, and Cox asked,
"Is that you, Johnny?"
"Yes, sir."
"You needn't ship the early mail--nor ANY mail; wait till I tell you."
"It's already gone, sir."
"GONE?" It had the sound of an unspeakable disappointment in it.
"Yes, sir. Time-table for Brixton and all the towns beyond changed to-day, sir--had to get the papers in twenty minutes earlier than common. I had to rush; if I had been two minutes later--"
The men turned and walked slowly away, not waiting to hear the rest. Neither of them spoke during ten minutes; then Cox said, in a vexed tone,
"What possessed you to be in such a hurry, I can't make out."
The answer was humble enough:
“噢，我知道，我知道——没完没了的教育、教育、教育，教人要诚实——从摇篮里就开始教，拿诚实当挡箭牌，抵制一切，所以这诚实全是假的，一来，就全都泡汤了，今天晚上咱们可都看见了。老天在上，我对自己这种僵成了石头、想打都打不烂的诚实从来没有一丝一毫的怀疑，直到今天——今天，第一次真正的大一来，我就——爱德华，我相信全镇子的诚实都变味了，就像我一样；也像你一样，都变味了。这个镇子卑鄙，冷酷、吝啬，除了吹牛、摆架子的诚实，这个镇子连一点儿德行都没有了；我敢发誓，我确实相信，有朝一日这份诚实在要命的脚底下栽了跟头，它的鼎鼎大名会像纸糊的房子一样变成碎片。好，这一回我可是彻底坦白了，心里也好受了。我是个骗子，活了一辈子，骗了一辈子，自己还不知道。以后谁也别再说我诚实——我可受不了。”
“我——哎，玛丽，我心里想的和你一模一样，我真是这么想的。这好像有点怪，太怪了。过去我从来不敢相信会是这样——从来不信。”
随后是一阵长时间的沉默；夫妻俩都陷入了沉思。最后妻子抬起头来说：
“我知道你在想什么，爱德华。”
理查兹一脸被人抓住了把柄的窘态。
“如实说出来真没脸见人，玛丽，可是——”
“没事，爱德华，我现在跟你想到一起去了。”
“我真盼着能想到一起去。你说吧。”
“你想的是，如果有人猜得出古德森对那个外乡人说过什么话就好了。”
“一点没错。我觉得这是罪过，没脸见人。你呢？”
“我是过来人了。咱们在这儿搭个床吧；咱们得好好守着，守到明天早上银行金库开门，收了这只口袋……天哪，天哪——咱们要是没走错那步棋，该有多好！”
搭好了床，玛丽说：
“芝麻开门——那句话到底是怎么说的？我真想知道那句话是怎么说的？好吧，来；咱们该上床了。”
“睡觉？”
“不；想。”
“好吧，想。”
这时候，考克斯夫妇也打完了嘴仗，言归于好，他们上了床——想来想去，辗转反侧，烦躁不安，思量古德森究竟对那个走投无路的流浪汉说了一句什么话；那真是金口玉言哪，一句话就值四万块，还是现款。
镇子上的电报所那天晚上关门比平日晚，原因如下：考克斯报馆里的编辑主任是美联社的地方通讯员。他这个通讯员简直是挂名的，因为他一年发的稿子被社里采用超不过四次，多不过三十个字。可这一次不同。他把捕捉到的线索电告之后，马上就接到了回电：
将原委报来——点滴勿漏——一千二百字。
约的是一篇大稿子呀！编辑主任如约交了稿；于是，他成了全美国最风光的人。第二天吃早饭的时候，所有的美国人都在念叨“拒腐蚀的哈德莱堡”，从蒙特利尔到墨西哥湾，从阿拉斯加的冰天雪地到佛罗里达的柑桔园；千百万人都在谈论那个外乡人和他的钱袋子，都操心能不能找到那位应得这笔钱的人，都盼着快快看到这件事的后续报道——越快越好。
2
哈德莱堡镇的人们一觉醒来已经名扬天下，他们先是大吃一惊，继而欢欣鼓舞，继而得意洋洋。得意之情难以言表。镇上十九位要人及其夫人们奔走相告，握手言欢，彼此道贺，大家都说这件事给词典里添了一个新词——哈德莱堡：义同“拒腐蚀”——这个词注定要在各大词典里万古流芳啦！次要而无足轻重的公民及其老婆们也到处乱跑，举动也大同小异。人人都跑到银行去看那只装着金子的口袋；还不到正午时分，就已经有郁郁寡欢、心怀嫉妒的人成群结队地从布里克斯顿和邻近各镇蜂拥而至。当天下午和第二天，记者们也从四面八方纷纷赶来，验明这只钱袋的正身及其来龙去脉，把整个故事重新包装，对钱袋作了即兴的描摹渲染，理查兹的家，银行，长老会教堂，浸礼会教堂，公共广场，以及将要用来核实身份、移交钱财的镇公所，也没有逃过记者们的生花妙笔；此外还给几个人物画了几幅怪模怪样的肖像，有理查兹夫妇，银行家平克顿，有考克斯，有报馆的编辑主任，还有伯杰斯牧师和邮电所所长——甚至还有杰克·哈里代。哈里代游手好闲，脾气不错，是个在镇子里排不上号的粗人，三天打鱼，两天晒网，他是孩子王，也是丧家犬们的朋友，是镇子上典型的“萨姆·劳森”①。其貌不扬的小个子平克顿皮笑肉不笑、油腔滑调地向所有来宾展示钱袋子，他乐颠颠地挂着一对细皮嫩肉的巴掌，渲染这个镇子源远流长的诚实美名以及这次无与伦比的例证，他希望并且相信这个范例将传播开去，传遍美洲，在重振世道人心方面起到划时代的作用。如此等等。
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①萨姆·劳森是以创作《汤姆叔叔的小屋》（Uncle Tom's Cabin）知名的美国作家斯陀夫人（Hdrriet Beecher Stowe）笔下的一个人物，他是一个知足常乐、嘴不饶人的懒汉。
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一个星期过后，一切又平静下来；如痴如狂的自豪和喜悦已经渐渐化作轻柔、甜蜜和无言的欣慰——是那种深沉隽永，说不清、道不明的心满意足。人人脸上都流露着平和而圣洁的幸福表情。
这时发生了一种变化。这是一种渐进的变化：因为变得非常慢，所以开始时很难察觉；也许大家根本就没有察觉，只有在什么事情里都能看出门道来的杰克·哈里代是个例外。无论什么事情，哈里代总能拿来开玩笑。他发现有些人看起来不像一两天以前那么高兴，就开始说风凉话；接着，他说这种新的现象正在向闷闷不乐的方向深化；后来他又说人家满脸都是晦气；最后，他说人人都变得怒气冲冲，满肚子心思，心不在焉了，就算他把手一直伸到镇子上最吝啬的人裤袋深处抠一分钱，也不会让他清醒过来。
在这个阶段——也许大约在这个阶段——那十九户要人的一家之长在临睡前差不多都要说一句这样的话——通常是先叹一口气，然后才说：
“唉，那个古德森到底说过一句什么话呢？”
男人的妻子紧接着——用发颤的声音说：
“嗨，别说了！你心里转什么念头呢？怪吓人的。看在主的份儿上，快别想了！”
可是，到第二天晚上，这些男人又把这个问题搬了出来——照样受到呵斥。不过呵斥的声音小了一点。
第三天晚上，男人们再念叨这个问题的时候——声音里透着苦闷和茫然。这一次——还有次日晚上——妻子们略微有点心烦意乱，她们都有话要说。可是她们都没有说出口来。
接下来的那个晚上，她们终于开了口，热切地应和着：
“唉，咱们要是能猜出来多好啊！”
一天天过去，哈里代的评论越来越肆无忌惮，越来越讨人嫌，越来越阴损了。他不辞辛劳地到处乱跑；取笑镇子上的人，有时候是一个个地挖苦，有时候又放在一起嘲笑。不过，全镇子里也只有他还能笑得出来：这笑声所到之处，尽是空旷而凄凉的荒漠。哪里都看不到一丝笑容。哈里代扛着一个三角架到处跑，上面放一个雪茄烟盒子，权当照相机；碰上过路的人就截住，把这玩艺儿对准他们说：“准备！——笑一笑，您哪。”可是，如此高明的玩笑也没能给那一张张阴沉的脸一个惊喜，让它们松弛一下。
三个星期就这样过去了——还剩下一个星期。那是星期六的晚上——晚饭已经吃过。如今的星期六没有了以往那种热热闹闹逛商店、开玩笑的场面，街面上空空荡荡，人迹稀少。理查兹和老伴在小客厅里东一个、西一个地坐着——愁眉不展，满肚子心事。这种情形已经成了他们晚间的习惯：从前他们守了一辈子的老习惯——看书，编织，随意聊天，或者是邻居们互相走动，这些习惯已经成为历史，被他们忘却好长时间了——也许已经有两三个星期了；现在没有人闲谈，没有人看书，也没有人串门——全镇子上的人都坐在家里唉声叹气，愁眉不展地发呆。都想猜到那句话。
邮递员送来了一封信。理查兹两眼无神地扫了一眼信封上的字和邮戳——没有一样面熟——他把信丢在桌子上，重新接上刚刚被打断的思路，忍受着无望而沉闷的苦恼，继续猜度那句金口玉言。两三个小时以后，他的妻子精疲力尽地站起来，没有道晚安就想去上床了——如今这已经司空见惯——可是，她走到那封信旁停下了脚步，没精打采地看了看，然后拆开信，从上到下扫了一遍。理查兹正呆坐着，翘起的椅子背顶着墙，下巴额埋在两腿当中；这时候他听见了东西倒地的声音。原来是他妻子。他赶快跑过去搀扶，不料她却大叫起来：
“别管我，我太高兴了。你快看信——看哪！”
他接过信来就看。一目十行地看完，他的脑子就像腾云驾雾一般。那封信是从很远的一个州寄来的，信里说：
我和你素不相识，不过这没有关系：我想告诉你一件事情。我刚从墨西哥回到家中，就听到了那条新闻。你当然不知道那句话是谁说的，可是我知道，在世的人当中只有我一个人知道。那人是古德森。多年以前，我很熟悉他。就在那天晚上，我路过你们那个镇子，坐半夜的火车离开以前，我一直在他那儿做客。他在暗处对外乡人说那句话的时候，我在旁边听见了——那是在赫尔胡同。当时，从去他家的路上，直到后来在他家抽烟的时候，他和我谈论的都是这件事。他在谈话中提到了很多你们镇子上的人——对大多数人贬得都很厉害，只对两三个人还算手下留情；这两三个人当中就有你。我说的是“手下留情”——仅此而已。我记得当时他讲到，说实在话，全镇上的人他没有一个喜欢的——一个都没有；不过说到你——我想他说的是你——这应该不会错——有一次帮过他一个大忙，也许你自己都不知道这个忙帮得有多大，他说他希望有一笔财产，临死的时候留给你，至于镇上的其他居民，留给他们的只有诅咒。如此说来，假如那个忙确实是你帮的，你就是他的合法继承人，就有权利得到那一袋金子。我知道我可以信赖你的良知和诚实，因为每一个哈德莱堡镇的公民都具有这些世代相传、从未湮没的天性，所以我现在就把那句话透露给你，我非常放心：如果你自己不应得这笔钱，一定会去找到应得的人，让可怜的古德森得以报答因受惠而久的人情。那句话是这样说的：“你决不是一个坏蛋：去吧，改了就好。”
霍华德·L·史蒂文森
“啊，爱德华，那钱是咱们的了。我真是太高兴了，噢，太高兴了——亲亲我，亲爱的，咱们有多少日子没亲过了——咱们正用得着——这笔钱——现在你可以甩开平克顿和他的银行了，再也不用给别人当奴才了。我高兴得简直要飞起来了。”
夫妻俩相互爱抚着在长靠椅上度过了半个小时的快乐时光；旧日的时光重又来临——那种时光从他们相爱就开始了，直到那个外乡人带来这笔该死的钱以后才被打断。过了一会儿，妻子说：
“啊，爱德华，当初帮他一个大忙真是你的福分，可怜的古德森！过去我从来不喜欢他，现在我倒喜欢上他了。做了这样的事你都没有说过，也不显摆，真不错，干得漂亮。”然后她又做了一点儿小小的批评：“不过你总该告诉我嘛，爱德华，你总该告诉自己的妻子呀。”
“这个，我——呢——这个，玛丽，你瞧——”
“别再这个那个的啦，跟我说说吧，爱德华。我一直是爱你的，现在更为你感到自豪。谁都相信这镇子上只有一个慷慨大方的好人，原来你也——爱德华，你怎么不告诉我？”
“这个——呢——呕——唉，玛丽，我不能说！”
“你不能说？怎么不能说？”
“你瞧，他——这个，他——他让我保证不说出去。”
妻子把他从上到下看了一遍，很慢很慢地说：
“让——你——保证？爱德华，你跟我说这话是什么意思？”
“玛丽，你想我会撒谎吗？”
她不出声地闷了一会儿，然后把自己的手放在丈夫的手心里说：
“不是……不是。咱们这是把话扯远了——上帝饶恕我们吧！你这一辈子从来没有撒过谎。可是现在——现在咱们脚底下的根基眼看就要站不住了，咱们就——咱们就——”她一时想不出词儿来，后来又断断续续地说：“别把咱们引到邪路上去——我想你是跟人家保证过，爱德华。那就算了吧。咱们不说这件事了。好吧——这件事就算过去了；咱们还是高高兴兴的，别自找麻烦了。”
听着妻子的话，爱德华有点儿跟不上，因为他总是心猿意马——他在使劲想到底给古德森帮过什么忙。
夫妻俩一夜都没怎么合眼，玛丽高高兴兴地忙着想心事；爱德华也忙着想，却不怎么高兴。玛丽思量怎么用这笔钱。爱德华使劲回忆自己对古德森的恩惠。刚开始，他还因为对玛丽说了假话——如果说那也算假话——有点儿惴惴不安。后来他经过再三思索——就算说的是假话，那又怎么样呢？这算什么大不了的事吗？咱们不是经常作假吗？既然假的能作，怎么就不能说呢？你看玛丽——看她都干了什么。他抓紧时间做老实事的时候，她做什么呢？她正在吃后悔药呢，后悔自己没有毁了那张字条，把钱昧下来！偷东西能比说假话好到哪里去？
这一点不再那么显眼了——撒谎的事退居后台，而且还留下了一点儿聊以的东西。另一点却变得突出了：他真帮过人家的忙吗？你看，史蒂文森的信里说了，有古德森自己为证；再也没有比这更好的证明了——这简直是他自己提交的证书啊。确定无疑。因此这一点就没问题了——不，并不是毫无问题。他忐忑不安地回想起，帮忙的人究竟是理查兹，还是其他什么人，这位素不相识的史蒂文森先生并没有十分把握，——而且，哎呀，他还把这件事全都托付给理查兹了！理查兹只能自己来决定这笔钱应该归谁——假如理查兹不是那个该拿钱的人，他一定会胸怀坦荡地把该拿钱的人找出来，对此史蒂文森先生毫不怀疑。把人摆布到这种地步，多可恨哪——哎，史蒂文森难道就不能不留下这个疑点吗！他为什么要多此一举呢？
再往深处想想。是理查兹、而不是别人的名字留在了史蒂文森的印象中，让他觉得那个该拿钱的人就是理查兹，这到底是怎么回事呢？这一点感觉不错。是的，这一点感觉很好。说真的，他越往下想，这种感觉就越好——直到这种感觉渐渐成为实实在在的证据。于是理查兹马上把这个问题放到一旁，不去想它，因为他有一种直觉：证据一旦成立，最好不要再去纠缠。
这样一来，他理所当然地放宽了心，可是还有一件琐事却老来干扰他的注意力：他当然帮过人家的忙——这一点已经成立了；可到底帮过什么忙呢？他必须想出来——这件事不想出来他就不能去睡觉；只有想出来才能让他心地坦然。于是他想啊想啊。他想到了十多件事情——从可能帮过的忙，直到很可能帮过的忙——可是这些事情好像没有一件够资格，没有一件够分量，没有一件能值那么多钱——值得古德森大亨盼着能立遗嘱给他留下一笔财产。这还不算，他根本就想不起自己曾经干过这些事。那么，这个——那么，这个——究竟要帮一个什么样的忙，才能让一个人感激不尽呢？噢——拯救他的灵魂！一定是这件事。对，他现在想起来了：当初他曾经自告奋勇去劝古德森改邪归正，苦苦地劝了他足有——他正想说劝了他足有三个月；可是经过慎重考虑，还是削减为一个月，然后又削减为一个星期，削减成一天，最后减得一点不剩了。是啊，他现在想起来了，那个场面不大好受，可是却历历在目，古德森当时让他滚蛋，少管闲事——他可不跟在哈德莱堡的屁股后面上天堂！
这条路走不通——他并没有拯救过古德森的灵魂。理查兹泄了气。稍停，又一个念头冒了出来：他挽救过古德森的财产吗？不行，这办不到——他是个穷光蛋。救过他的命？对呀。正是。哎呀，他早就该想到这一点了。这一次他总算走对了路，毫无疑问。顷刻之间，他的想象机器就使劲转了起来。
在此后的整整两个小时里，他呕心沥血，忙于拯救古德森的性命。他尝试着历尽各种艰险救古德森一命。每次救命行动都推进到了一个功德的地步；就在他开始深信这一行动确有其事的时候，总会冒出一个细节来捣乱，把整个事情都搅成无稽之谈。就拿救落水的古德森这个例子来说。这一次他劈波斩浪向前冲，把不省人事的古德森拖上岸来，四周还有一大群人围观喝彩；可是，正当他已经把整个过程想好，开始把这一切铭记在心的时候，一大堆拆台的细节却纷至沓来：这种事情镇上的人们总得知道吧，玛丽总得知道吧；自己的记忆里如果有这种事情，也会像打着灯笼一样照得清清楚楚，这又不是那种不足挂齿的小事，怎么会做完还“不知道帮了人家多大的忙”呢。还有，到了这个地步，他才想起来：自己还不会凫水呢。
啊——有一点他从开始就忽略了：这件事必须是他已经帮了别人的忙却“不知道这忙帮得究竟有多大”。唉，真是的，要找这样的事应该是不费吹灰之力嘛——比找其他事情容易多了。果然如此，不久他就想出了一件。好多好多年以前，古德森眼看就要和一个名叫南茜·体维特的非常漂亮的甜妞成亲，但是出于种种原因，这桩婚事后来还是吹了；那姑娘死了，古德森依然是个单身汉，而且慢慢变成了一个尖酸刻薄瞧谁都不顺眼的家伙。那姑娘死后不久，镇子上的人就发现，或是自以为早就知道：她有一点点黑人血统。理查兹把各种细枝末节想了半天，感到他终于想起了一些与此有关的事情，这些事情一定是因为好多年无暇顾及，已经从记忆中消失了。他似乎隐隐约约记得，当初就是他自己发现姑娘沾点儿黑人血统，也是他把这个消息告诉了镇子上的人，镇子上的人也告诉了古德森他们是从哪里得来的消息；他就如此这般地挽救了古德森，使他免于和那个血统不纯的姑娘结婚。他帮了古德森一个大忙，却“不知道这个忙帮得有多大”，说实在的，他根本就不知道是在帮人家的忙，可是古德森明白帮这个忙的价值，也明白他是怎样侥幸逃脱的，于是才在临死前对帮他忙的人千恩万谢，巴不得能留给他一笔财产。现在全都弄清楚了，事情再简单不过，他越想这件事就越明白、越实在；最后，当他舒舒服服地躺下，心满意足、高高兴兴准备睡觉的时候，这件事在他的记忆中就像是昨天刚刚发生的一样。说真的，他还能隐约记得古德森有一次对他表示过谢意。就在理查兹思考的这段时间里，玛丽已经为她自己花了六千元买新房子，还给她的牧师买了一双拖鞋，此刻她安安稳稳地睡着了。
就在这个星期六的晚上，邮递员给镇子上的其他各位大户分别送去了一封信——一共送了十九封。每个信封都不一样，信封上的笔迹各不相同，可是里面的信除了一个地方之外分毫不差。每封信都和理查兹收到的那一封如出一辙——笔迹和其他一切——所有信的落款都是史蒂文森，只是在有理查兹名字的地方换上了其他收信人的名字。
整整一夜，那十八位本镇大户在同样的时间里做了与他们同命相连的理查兹做的同一件事——他们集中精力，想记起他们曾在无意中给巴克利·古德森帮过什么忙。无论对谁来说，这都不是、桩轻而易举的工作；然而他们都成功了。
在他们从事这项艰苦工作的同时，他们的妻子却用了一夜的时间来轻轻松松地花钱。一夜之间，十九位太太平均每人把那只口袋里的四万块钱花了七千块——加起来一共是十三万三千块钱。
第二天杰克·哈里代大吃一惊。他看出镇上的十九位要人及其夫人脸上重新呈现出安详圣洁的快乐神情。对此他不光难以理解，也想不出词来消除或者扰乱这种情绪。现在该轮到他对生活感到不满了。他暗自对这种快乐的起因作了诸多猜测，然而一经推敲，没有一条能站得住脚。他碰见威尔科克斯太太的时候，看见她那心醉神迷的样子，就想道：“她家的猫生了小猫咪了”——去问她家的厨子：结果并无此事。厨子也发觉了这四喜气，却不知道喜从何来。哈里代发现“老实人”（镇上人送的外号）比尔逊脸上也有心醉神迷的表情，就断定比尔逊的哪一家邻居摔断了腿，但是调查表明，此事也未曾发生。格里高利·耶茨强忍着得意忘形只可能有一种原因——他的丈母娘死了：结果又猜错了。“那么平克顿——平克顿——他一定是要回来一角钱的老账，这笔钱他本来以为没有盼头了。”如此等等。有的猜测只能存疑，有些则业已证明是大错特错。最后，哈里代自言自语地说：“不管怎么样，眼下哈德莱堡有十九家一步登天了。我还不清楚这件事的前因后果，我只知道上帝今天不值班。”
有一位邻州的设计师兼建筑商近日来到这个前景暗淡的镇子，冒险办了一家小公司，挂牌已经有一个星期了，还没有一个顾客上门。这人垂头丧气，后悔他不该来。谁料到突然间云开雾散。那些小镇大户的太太们一个接一个来找他，悄悄地说：
“下星期一到我们家来——不过这件事你先别声张。我们正打算盖房子哪。”
"Next time be hanged! It won't come in a thousand years."
Then the friends separated without a good-night, and dragged themselves home with the gait of mortally stricken men. At their homes their wives sprang up with an eager "Well?"--then saw the answer with their eyes and sank down sorrowing, without waiting for it to come in words. In both houses a discussion followed of a heated sort--a new thing; there had been discussions before, but not heated ones, not ungentle ones. The discussions to-night were a sort of seeming plagiarisms of each other. Mrs. Richards said:
"If you had only waited, Edward--if you had only stopped to think; but no, you must run straight to the printing-office and spread it all over the world."
"It SAID publish it."
"That is nothing; it also said do it privately, if you liked. There, now--is that true, or not?"
"Why, yes--yes, it is true; but when I thought what a stir it would make, and what a compliment it was to Hadleyburg that a stranger should trust it so--"
"Oh, certainly, I know all that; but if you had only stopped to think, you would have seen that you COULDN'T find the right man, because he is in his grave, and hasn't left chick nor child nor relation behind him; and as long as the money went to somebody that awfully needed it, and nobody would be hurt by it, and--and--"
She broke down, crying. Her husband tried to think of some comforting thing to say, and presently came out with this:
"But after all, Mary, it must be for the best--it must be; we know that. And we must remember that it was so ordered--"
"Ordered! Oh, everything's ORDERED, when a person has to find some way out when he has been stupid. Just the same, it was ORDERED that the money should come to us in this special way, and it was you that must take it on yourself to go meddling with the designs of Providence--and who gave you the right? It was wicked, that is what it was--just blasphemous presumption, and no more becoming to a meek and humble professor of--"
"But, Mary, you know how we have been trained all our lives long, like the whole village, till it is absolutely second nature to us to stop not a single moment to think when there's an honest thing to be done--"
"Oh, I know it, I know it--it's been one everlasting training and training and training in honesty--honesty shielded, from the very cradle, against every possible temptation, and so it's ARTIFICIAL honesty, and weak as water when temptation comes, as we have seen this night. God knows I never had shade nor shadow of a doubt of my petrified and indestructible honesty until now--and now, under the very first big and real temptation, I--Edward, it is my belief that this town's honesty is as rotten as mine is; as rotten as yours. It is a mean town, a hard, stingy town, and hasn't a virtue in the world but this honesty it is so celebrated for and so conceited about; and so help me, I do believe that if ever the day comes that its honesty falls under great temptation, its grand reputation will go to ruin like a house of cards. There, now, I've made confession, and I feel better; I am a humbug, and I've been one all my life, without knowing it. Let no man call me honest again--I will not have it."
"I-- Well, Mary, I feel a good deal as you do: I certainly do. It seems strange, too, so strange. I never could have believed it-- never."
A long silence followed; both were sunk in thought. At last the wife looked up and said:
"I know what you are thinking, Edward."
Richards had the embarrassed look of a person who is caught.
"I am ashamed to confess it, Mary, but--"
"It's no matter, Edward, I was thinking the same question myself."
"I hope so. State it."
"You were thinking, if a body could only guess out WHAT THE REMARK WAS that Goodson made to the stranger."
"It's perfectly true. I feel guilty and ashamed. And you?"
"I'm past it. Let us make a pallet here; we've got to stand watch till the bank vault opens in the morning and admits the sack. . . Oh dear, oh dear--if we hadn't made the mistake!"
The pallet was made, and Mary said:
"The open sesame--what could it have been? I do wonder what that remark could have been. But come; we will get to bed now."
"And sleep?"
"No; think."
"Yes; think."
By this time the Coxes too had completed their spat and their reconciliation, and were turning in--to think, to think, and toss, and fret, and worry over what the remark could possibly have been which Goodson made to the stranded derelict; that golden remark; that remark worth forty thousand dollars, cash.
The reason that the village telegraph-office was open later than usual that night was this: The foreman of Cox's paper was the local representative of the Associated Press. One might say its honorary representative, for it wasn't four times a year that he could furnish thirty words that would be accepted. But this time it was different. His despatch stating what he had caught got an instant answer:
"Send the whole thing--all the details--twelve hundred words."
A colossal order! The foreman filled the bill; and he was the proudest man in the State. By breakfast-time the next morning the name of Hadleyburg the Incorruptible was on every lip in America, from Montreal to the Gulf, from the glaciers of Alaska to the orange-groves of Florida; and millions and millions of people were discussing the stranger and his money-sack, and wondering if the right man would be found, and hoping some more news about the matter would come soon--right away.
II
Hadleyburg village woke up world-celebrated--astonished--happy-- vain. Vain beyond imagination. Its nineteen principal citizens and their wives went about shaking hands with each other, and beaming, and smiling, and congratulating, and saying THIS thing adds a new word to the dictionary--HADLEYBURG, synonym for INCORRUPTIBLE-- destined to live in dictionaries for ever! And the minor and unimportant citizens and their wives went around acting in much the same way. Everybody ran to the bank to see the gold-sack; and before noon grieved and envious crowds began to flock in from Brixton and all neighbouring towns; and that afternoon and next day reporters began to arrive from everywhere to verify the sack and its history and write the whole thing up anew, and make dashing free- hand pictures of the sack, and of Richards's house, and the bank, and the Presbyterian church, and the Baptist church, and the public square, and the town-hall where the test would be applied and the money delivered; and damnable portraits of the Richardses, and Pinkerton the banker, and Cox, and the foreman, and Reverend Burgess, and the postmaster--and even of Jack Halliday, who was the loafing, good-natured, no-account, irreverent fisherman, hunter, boys' friend, stray-dogs' friend, typical "Sam Lawson" of the town. The little mean, smirking, oily Pinkerton showed the sack to all comers, and rubbed his sleek palms together pleasantly, and enlarged upon the town's fine old reputation for honesty and upon this wonderful endorsement of it, and hoped and believed that the example would now spread far and wide over the American world, and be epoch- making in the matter of moral regeneration. And so on, and so on.
By the end of a week things had quieted down again; the wild intoxication of pride and joy had sobered to a soft, sweet, silent delight--a sort of deep, nameless, unutterable content. All faces bore a look of peaceful, holy happiness.
Then a change came. It was a gradual change; so gradual that its beginnings were hardly noticed; maybe were not noticed at all, except by Jack Halliday, who always noticed everything; and always made fun of it, too, no matter what it was. He began to throw out chaffing remarks about people not looking quite so happy as they did a day or two ago; and next he claimed that the new aspect was deepening to positive sadness; next, that it was taking on a sick look; and finally he said that everybody was become so moody, thoughtful, and absent-minded that he could rob the meanest man in town of a cent out of the bottom of his breeches pocket and not disturb his reverie.
At this stage--or at about this stage--a saying like this was dropped at bedtime--with a sigh, usually--by the head of each of the nineteen principal households:
"Ah, what COULD have been the remark that Goodson made?"
And straightway--with a shudder--came this, from the man's wife:
"Oh, DON'T! What horrible thing are you mulling in your mind? Put it away from you, for God's sake!"
But that question was wrung from those men again the next night--and got the same retort. But weaker.
And the third night the men uttered the question yet again--with anguish, and absently. This time--and the following night--the wives fidgeted feebly, and tried to say something. But didn't.
And the night after that they found their tongues and responded-- longingly:
"Oh, if we COULD only guess!"
Halliday's comments grew daily more and more sparklingly disagreeable and disparaging. He went diligently about, laughing at the town, individually and in mass. But his laugh was the only one left in the village: it fell upon a hollow and mournful vacancy and emptiness. Not even a smile was findable anywhere. Halliday carried a cigar-box around on a tripod, playing that it was a camera, and halted all passers and aimed the thing and said "Ready! --now look pleasant, please," but not even this capital joke could surprise the dreary faces into any softening.
So three weeks passed--one week was left. It was Saturday evening after supper. Instead of the aforetime Saturday-evening flutter and bustle and shopping and larking, the streets were empty and desolate. Richards and his old wife sat apart in their little parlour--miserable and thinking. This was become their evening habit now: the life-long habit which had preceded it, of reading, knitting, and contented chat, or receiving or paying neighbourly calls, was dead and gone and forgotten, ages ago--two or three weeks ago; nobody talked now, nobody read, nobody visited--the whole village sat at home, sighing, worrying, silent. Trying to guess out that remark.
The postman left a letter. Richards glanced listlessly at the superscription and the post-mark--unfamiliar, both--and tossed the letter on the table and resumed his might-have-beens and his hopeless dull miseries where he had left them off. Two or three hours later his wife got wearily up and was going away to bed without a good-night--custom now--but she stopped near the letter and eyed it awhile with a dead interest, then broke it open, and began to skim it over. Richards, sitting there with his chair tilted back against the wall and his chin between his knees, heard something fall. It was his wife. He sprang to her side, but she cried out:
"Leave me alone, I am too happy. Read the letter--read it!"
He did. He devoured it, his brain reeling. The letter was from a distant State, and it said:
"I am a stranger to you, but no matter: I have something to tell. I have just arrived home from Mexico, and learned about that episode. Of course you do not know who made that remark, but I know, and I am the only person living who does know. It was GOODSON. I knew him well, many years ago. I passed through your village that very night, and was his guest till the midnight train came along. I overheard him make that remark to the stranger in the dark--it was in Hale Alley. He and I talked of it the rest of the way home, and while smoking in his house. He mentioned many of your villagers in the course of his talk--most of them in a very uncomplimentary way, but two or three favourably: among these latter yourself. I say 'favourably'--nothing stronger. I remember his saying he did not actually LIKE any person in the town--not one; but that you--I THINK he said you--am almost sure--had done him a very great service once, possibly without knowing the full value of it, and he wished he had a fortune, he would leave it to you when he died, and a curse apiece for the rest of the citizens. Now, then, if it was you that did him that service, you are his legitimate heir, and entitled to the sack of gold. I know that I can trust to your honour and honesty, for in a citizen of Hadleyburg these virtues are an unfailing inheritance, and so I am going to reveal to you the remark, well satisfied that if you are not the right man you will seek and find the right one and see that poor Goodson's debt of gratitude for the service referred to is paid. This is the remark 'YOU ARE FAR FROM BEING A BAD MAN: GO, AND REFORM.'
"HOWARD L. STEPHENSON."
"Oh, Edward, the money is ours, and I am so grateful, OH, so grateful,--kiss me, dear, it's for ever since we kissed--and we needed it so--the money--and now you are free of Pinkerton and his bank, and nobody's slave any more; it seems to me I could fly for joy."
It was a happy half-hour that the couple spent there on the settee caressing each other; it was the old days come again--days that had begun with their courtship and lasted without a break till the stranger brought the deadly money. By-and-by the wife said:
"Oh, Edward, how lucky it was you did him that grand service, poor Goodson! I never liked him, but I love him now. And it was fine and beautiful of you never to mention it or brag about it." Then, with a touch of reproach, "But you ought to have told ME, Edward, you ought to have told your wife, you know."
"Well, I--er--well, Mary, you see--"
"Now stop hemming and hawing, and tell me about it, Edward. I always loved you, and now I'm proud of you. Everybody believes there was only one good generous soul in this village, and now it turns out that you-- Edward, why don't you tell me?"
"Well--er--er--Why, Mary, I can't!"
"You CAN'T? WHY can't you?"
"You see, he--well, he--he made me promise I wouldn't."
The wife looked him over, and said, very slowly:
"Made--you--promise? Edward, what do you tell me that for?"
"Mary, do you think I would lie?"
She was troubled and silent for a moment, then she laid her hand within his and said:
"No . . . no. We have wandered far enough from our bearings--God spare us that! In all your life you have never uttered a lie. But now--now that the foundations of things seem to be crumbling from under us, we--we--" She lost her voice for a moment, then said, brokenly, "Lead us not into temptation. . . I think you made the promise, Edward. Let it rest so. Let us keep away from that ground. Now--that is all gone by; let us he happy again; it is no time for clouds."
Edward found it something of an effort to comply, for his mind kept wandering--trying to remember what the service was that he had done Goodson.
The couple lay awake the most of the night, Mary happy and busy, Edward busy, but not so happy. Mary was planning what she would do with the money. Edward was trying to recall that service. At first his conscience was sore on account of the lie he had told Mary--if it was a lie. After much reflection--suppose it WAS a lie? What then? Was it such a great matter? Aren't we always ACTING lies? Then why not tell them? Look at Mary--look what she had done. While he was hurrying off on his honest errand, what was she doing? Lamenting because the papers hadn't been destroyed and the money kept. Is theft better than lying?
THAT point lost its sting--the lie dropped into the background and left comfort behind it. The next point came to the front: HAD he rendered that service? Well, here was Goodson's own evidence as reported in Stephenson's letter; there could be no better evidence than that--it was even PROOF that he had rendered it. Of course. So that point was settled. . . No, not quite. He recalled with a wince that this unknown Mr. Stephenson was just a trifle unsure as to whether the performer of it was Richards or some other--and, oh dear, he had put Richards on his honour! He must himself decide whither that money must go--and Mr. Stephenson was not doubting that if he was the wrong man he would go honourably and find the right one. Oh, it was odious to put a man in such 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 in Stephenson's mind as indicating the right man, and not some other man's name? That looked good. Yes, that looked very good. In fact it went on looking better and better, straight along--until by-and- by it grew into positive PROOF. And then Richards put the matter at once out of his mind, for he had a private instinct that a proof once established is better left so.
He was feeling reasonably comfortable now, but there was still one other detail that kept pushing itself on his notice: of course he had done that service--that was settled; but what WAS that service? He must recall it--he would not go to sleep till he had recalled it; it would make his peace of mind perfect. And so he thought and thought. He thought of a dozen things--possible services, even probable services--but none of them seemed adequate, none of them seemed large enough, none of them seemed worth the money--worth the fortune Goodson had wished he could leave in his will. And besides, he couldn't remember having done them, anyway. Now, then--now, then--what KIND of a service would it be that would make a man so inordinately grateful? Ah--the saving of his soul! That must be it. Yes, he could remember, now, how he once set himself the task of converting Goodson, and laboured at it as much as--he was going to 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 thunder and mind his own business--HE wasn't hankering to follow Hadleyburg to heaven!
So that solution was a failure--he hadn't saved Goodson's soul. Richards was discouraged. Then after a little came another idea: had he saved Goodson's property? No, that wouldn't do--he hadn't any. His life? That is it! Of course. Why, he might have thought of it before. This time he was on the right track, sure. His imagination-mill was hard at work in a minute, now.
Thereafter, during a stretch of two exhausting hours, he was busy saving Goodson'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 really happened, a troublesome detail would turn up which made the whole thing impossible. As in the matter of drowning, for instance. In that case he had swum out and tugged Goodson ashore in an unconscious state with a great crowd looking on and applauding, but when he had got it all thought out and was just beginning to remember all about it, a whole swarm of disqualifying details arrived on the ground: the town would have known of the circumstance, Mary would have known of it, it would glare like a limelight in his own memory instead of being an inconspicuous service which he had possibly rendered "without knowing its full value." And at this point he remembered that he couldn't swim anyway.
“我——哎，玛丽，我心里想的和你一模一样，我真是这么想的。这好像有点怪，太怪了。过去我从来不敢相信会是这样——从来不信。”
随后是一阵长时间的沉默；夫妻俩都陷入了沉思。最后妻子抬起头来说：
“我知道你在想什么，爱德华。”
理查兹一脸被人抓住了把柄的窘态。
“如实说出来真没脸见人，玛丽，可是——”
“没事，爱德华，我现在跟你想到一起去了。”
“我真盼着能想到一起去。你说吧。”
“你想的是，如果有人猜得出古德森对那个外乡人说过什么话就好了。”
“一点没错。我觉得这是罪过，没脸见人。你呢？”
“我是过来人了。咱们在这儿搭个床吧；咱们得好好守着，守到明天早上银行金库开门，收了这只口袋……天哪，天哪——咱们要是没走错那步棋，该有多好！”
搭好了床，玛丽说：
“芝麻开门——那句话到底是怎么说的？我真想知道那句话是怎么说的？好吧，来；咱们该上床了。”
“睡觉？”
“不；想。”
“好吧，想。”
这时候，考克斯夫妇也打完了嘴仗，言归于好，他们上了床——想来想去，辗转反侧，烦躁不安，思量古德森究竟对那个走投无路的流浪汉说了一句什么话；那真是金口玉言哪，一句话就值四万块，还是现款。
镇子上的电报所那天晚上关门比平日晚，原因如下：考克斯报馆里的编辑主任是美联社的地方通讯员。他这个通讯员简直是挂名的，因为他一年发的稿子被社里采用超不过四次，多不过三十个字。可这一次不同。他把捕捉到的线索电告之后，马上就接到了回电：
将原委报来——点滴勿漏——一千二百字。
约的是一篇大稿子呀！编辑主任如约交了稿；于是，他成了全美国最风光的人。第二天吃早饭的时候，所有的美国人都在念叨“拒腐蚀的哈德莱堡”，从蒙特利尔到墨西哥湾，从阿拉斯加的冰天雪地到佛罗里达的柑桔园；千百万人都在谈论那个外乡人和他的钱袋子，都操心能不能找到那位应得这笔钱的人，都盼着快快看到这件事的后续报道——越快越好。
2
哈德莱堡镇的人们一觉醒来已经名扬天下，他们先是大吃一惊，继而欢欣鼓舞，继而得意洋洋。得意之情难以言表。镇上十九位要人及其夫人们奔走相告，握手言欢，彼此道贺，大家都说这件事给词典里添了一个新词——哈德莱堡：义同“拒腐蚀”——这个词注定要在各大词典里万古流芳啦！次要而无足轻重的公民及其老婆们也到处乱跑，举动也大同小异。人人都跑到银行去看那只装着金子的口袋；还不到正午时分，就已经有郁郁寡欢、心怀嫉妒的人成群结队地从布里克斯顿和邻近各镇蜂拥而至。当天下午和第二天，记者们也从四面八方纷纷赶来，验明这只钱袋的正身及其来龙去脉，把整个故事重新包装，对钱袋作了即兴的描摹渲染，理查兹的家，银行，长老会教堂，浸礼会教堂，公共广场，以及将要用来核实身份、移交钱财的镇公所，也没有逃过记者们的生花妙笔；此外还给几个人物画了几幅怪模怪样的肖像，有理查兹夫妇，银行家平克顿，有考克斯，有报馆的编辑主任，还有伯杰斯牧师和邮电所所长——甚至还有杰克·哈里代。哈里代游手好闲，脾气不错，是个在镇子里排不上号的粗人，三天打鱼，两天晒网，他是孩子王，也是丧家犬们的朋友，是镇子上典型的“萨姆·劳森”①。其貌不扬的小个子平克顿皮笑肉不笑、油腔滑调地向所有来宾展示钱袋子，他乐颠颠地挂着一对细皮嫩肉的巴掌，渲染这个镇子源远流长的诚实美名以及这次无与伦比的例证，他希望并且相信这个范例将传播开去，传遍美洲，在重振世道人心方面起到划时代的作用。如此等等。
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①萨姆·劳森是以创作《汤姆叔叔的小屋》（Uncle Tom's Cabin）知名的美国作家斯陀夫人（Hdrriet Beecher Stowe）笔下的一个人物，他是一个知足常乐、嘴不饶人的懒汉。
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一个星期过后，一切又平静下来；如痴如狂的自豪和喜悦已经渐渐化作轻柔、甜蜜和无言的欣慰——是那种深沉隽永，说不清、道不明的心满意足。人人脸上都流露着平和而圣洁的幸福表情。
这时发生了一种变化。这是一种渐进的变化：因为变得非常慢，所以开始时很难察觉；也许大家根本就没有察觉，只有在什么事情里都能看出门道来的杰克·哈里代是个例外。无论什么事情，哈里代总能拿来开玩笑。他发现有些人看起来不像一两天以前那么高兴，就开始说风凉话；接着，他说这种新的现象正在向闷闷不乐的方向深化；后来他又说人家满脸都是晦气；最后，他说人人都变得怒气冲冲，满肚子心思，心不在焉了，就算他把手一直伸到镇子上最吝啬的人裤袋深处抠一分钱，也不会让他清醒过来。
在这个阶段——也许大约在这个阶段——那十九户要人的一家之长在临睡前差不多都要说一句这样的话——通常是先叹一口气，然后才说：
“唉，那个古德森到底说过一句什么话呢？”
男人的妻子紧接着——用发颤的声音说：
“嗨，别说了！你心里转什么念头呢？怪吓人的。看在主的份儿上，快别想了！”
可是，到第二天晚上，这些男人又把这个问题搬了出来——照样受到呵斥。不过呵斥的声音小了一点。
第三天晚上，男人们再念叨这个问题的时候——声音里透着苦闷和茫然。这一次——还有次日晚上——妻子们略微有点心烦意乱，她们都有话要说。可是她们都没有说出口来。
接下来的那个晚上，她们终于开了口，热切地应和着：
“唉，咱们要是能猜出来多好啊！”
一天天过去，哈里代的评论越来越肆无忌惮，越来越讨人嫌，越来越阴损了。他不辞辛劳地到处乱跑；取笑镇子上的人，有时候是一个个地挖苦，有时候又放在一起嘲笑。不过，全镇子里也只有他还能笑得出来：这笑声所到之处，尽是空旷而凄凉的荒漠。哪里都看不到一丝笑容。哈里代扛着一个三角架到处跑，上面放一个雪茄烟盒子，权当照相机；碰上过路的人就截住，把这玩艺儿对准他们说：“准备！——笑一笑，您哪。”可是，如此高明的玩笑也没能给那一张张阴沉的脸一个惊喜，让它们松弛一下。
三个星期就这样过去了——还剩下一个星期。那是星期六的晚上——晚饭已经吃过。如今的星期六没有了以往那种热热闹闹逛商店、开玩笑的场面，街面上空空荡荡，人迹稀少。理查兹和老伴在小客厅里东一个、西一个地坐着——愁眉不展，满肚子心事。这种情形已经成了他们晚间的习惯：从前他们守了一辈子的老习惯——看书，编织，随意聊天，或者是邻居们互相走动，这些习惯已经成为历史，被他们忘却好长时间了——也许已经有两三个星期了；现在没有人闲谈，没有人看书，也没有人串门——全镇子上的人都坐在家里唉声叹气，愁眉不展地发呆。都想猜到那句话。
邮递员送来了一封信。理查兹两眼无神地扫了一眼信封上的字和邮戳——没有一样面熟——他把信丢在桌子上，重新接上刚刚被打断的思路，忍受着无望而沉闷的苦恼，继续猜度那句金口玉言。两三个小时以后，他的妻子精疲力尽地站起来，没有道晚安就想去上床了——如今这已经司空见惯——可是，她走到那封信旁停下了脚步，没精打采地看了看，然后拆开信，从上到下扫了一遍。理查兹正呆坐着，翘起的椅子背顶着墙，下巴额埋在两腿当中；这时候他听见了东西倒地的声音。原来是他妻子。他赶快跑过去搀扶，不料她却大叫起来：
“别管我，我太高兴了。你快看信——看哪！”
他接过信来就看。一目十行地看完，他的脑子就像腾云驾雾一般。那封信是从很远的一个州寄来的，信里说：
我和你素不相识，不过这没有关系：我想告诉你一件事情。我刚从墨西哥回到家中，就听到了那条新闻。你当然不知道那句话是谁说的，可是我知道，在世的人当中只有我一个人知道。那人是古德森。多年以前，我很熟悉他。就在那天晚上，我路过你们那个镇子，坐半夜的火车离开以前，我一直在他那儿做客。他在暗处对外乡人说那句话的时候，我在旁边听见了——那是在赫尔胡同。当时，从去他家的路上，直到后来在他家抽烟的时候，他和我谈论的都是这件事。他在谈话中提到了很多你们镇子上的人——对大多数人贬得都很厉害，只对两三个人还算手下留情；这两三个人当中就有你。我说的是“手下留情”——仅此而已。我记得当时他讲到，说实在话，全镇上的人他没有一个喜欢的——一个都没有；不过说到你——我想他说的是你——这应该不会错——有一次帮过他一个大忙，也许你自己都不知道这个忙帮得有多大，他说他希望有一笔财产，临死的时候留给你，至于镇上的其他居民，留给他们的只有诅咒。如此说来，假如那个忙确实是你帮的，你就是他的合法继承人，就有权利得到那一袋金子。我知道我可以信赖你的良知和诚实，因为每一个哈德莱堡镇的公民都具有这些世代相传、从未湮没的天性，所以我现在就把那句话透露给你，我非常放心：如果你自己不应得这笔钱，一定会去找到应得的人，让可怜的古德森得以报答因受惠而久的人情。那句话是这样说的：“你决不是一个坏蛋：去吧，改了就好。”
霍华德·L·史蒂文森
“啊，爱德华，那钱是咱们的了。我真是太高兴了，噢，太高兴了——亲亲我，亲爱的，咱们有多少日子没亲过了——咱们正用得着——这笔钱——现在你可以甩开平克顿和他的银行了，再也不用给别人当奴才了。我高兴得简直要飞起来了。”
夫妻俩相互爱抚着在长靠椅上度过了半个小时的快乐时光；旧日的时光重又来临——那种时光从他们相爱就开始了，直到那个外乡人带来这笔该死的钱以后才被打断。过了一会儿，妻子说：
“啊，爱德华，当初帮他一个大忙真是你的福分，可怜的古德森！过去我从来不喜欢他，现在我倒喜欢上他了。做了这样的事你都没有说过，也不显摆，真不错，干得漂亮。”然后她又做了一点儿小小的批评：“不过你总该告诉我嘛，爱德华，你总该告诉自己的妻子呀。”
“这个，我——呢——这个，玛丽，你瞧——”
“别再这个那个的啦，跟我说说吧，爱德华。我一直是爱你的，现在更为你感到自豪。谁都相信这镇子上只有一个慷慨大方的好人，原来你也——爱德华，你怎么不告诉我？”
“这个——呢——呕——唉，玛丽，我不能说！”
“你不能说？怎么不能说？”
“你瞧，他——这个，他——他让我保证不说出去。”
妻子把他从上到下看了一遍，很慢很慢地说：
“让——你——保证？爱德华，你跟我说这话是什么意思？”
“玛丽，你想我会撒谎吗？”
她不出声地闷了一会儿，然后把自己的手放在丈夫的手心里说：
“不是……不是。咱们这是把话扯远了——上帝饶恕我们吧！你这一辈子从来没有撒过谎。可是现在——现在咱们脚底下的根基眼看就要站不住了，咱们就——咱们就——”她一时想不出词儿来，后来又断断续续地说：“别把咱们引到邪路上去——我想你是跟人家保证过，爱德华。那就算了吧。咱们不说这件事了。好吧——这件事就算过去了；咱们还是高高兴兴的，别自找麻烦了。”
听着妻子的话，爱德华有点儿跟不上，因为他总是心猿意马——他在使劲想到底给古德森帮过什么忙。
夫妻俩一夜都没怎么合眼，玛丽高高兴兴地忙着想心事；爱德华也忙着想，却不怎么高兴。玛丽思量怎么用这笔钱。爱德华使劲回忆自己对古德森的恩惠。刚开始，他还因为对玛丽说了假话——如果说那也算假话——有点儿惴惴不安。后来他经过再三思索——就算说的是假话，那又怎么样呢？这算什么大不了的事吗？咱们不是经常作假吗？既然假的能作，怎么就不能说呢？你看玛丽——看她都干了什么。他抓紧时间做老实事的时候，她做什么呢？她正在吃后悔药呢，后悔自己没有毁了那张字条，把钱昧下来！偷东西能比说假话好到哪里去？
这一点不再那么显眼了——撒谎的事退居后台，而且还留下了一点儿聊以的东西。另一点却变得突出了：他真帮过人家的忙吗？你看，史蒂文森的信里说了，有古德森自己为证；再也没有比这更好的证明了——这简直是他自己提交的证书啊。确定无疑。因此这一点就没问题了——不，并不是毫无问题。他忐忑不安地回想起，帮忙的人究竟是理查兹，还是其他什么人，这位素不相识的史蒂文森先生并没有十分把握，——而且，哎呀，他还把这件事全都托付给理查兹了！理查兹只能自己来决定这笔钱应该归谁——假如理查兹不是那个该拿钱的人，他一定会胸怀坦荡地把该拿钱的人找出来，对此史蒂文森先生毫不怀疑。把人摆布到这种地步，多可恨哪——哎，史蒂文森难道就不能不留下这个疑点吗！他为什么要多此一举呢？
再往深处想想。是理查兹、而不是别人的名字留在了史蒂文森的印象中，让他觉得那个该拿钱的人就是理查兹，这到底是怎么回事呢？这一点感觉不错。是的，这一点感觉很好。说真的，他越往下想，这种感觉就越好——直到这种感觉渐渐成为实实在在的证据。于是理查兹马上把这个问题放到一旁，不去想它，因为他有一种直觉：证据一旦成立，最好不要再去纠缠。
这样一来，他理所当然地放宽了心，可是还有一件琐事却老来干扰他的注意力：他当然帮过人家的忙——这一点已经成立了；可到底帮过什么忙呢？他必须想出来——这件事不想出来他就不能去睡觉；只有想出来才能让他心地坦然。于是他想啊想啊。他想到了十多件事情——从可能帮过的忙，直到很可能帮过的忙——可是这些事情好像没有一件够资格，没有一件够分量，没有一件能值那么多钱——值得古德森大亨盼着能立遗嘱给他留下一笔财产。这还不算，他根本就想不起自己曾经干过这些事。那么，这个——那么，这个——究竟要帮一个什么样的忙，才能让一个人感激不尽呢？噢——拯救他的灵魂！一定是这件事。对，他现在想起来了：当初他曾经自告奋勇去劝古德森改邪归正，苦苦地劝了他足有——他正想说劝了他足有三个月；可是经过慎重考虑，还是削减为一个月，然后又削减为一个星期，削减成一天，最后减得一点不剩了。是啊，他现在想起来了，那个场面不大好受，可是却历历在目，古德森当时让他滚蛋，少管闲事——他可不跟在哈德莱堡的屁股后面上天堂！
这条路走不通——他并没有拯救过古德森的灵魂。理查兹泄了气。稍停，又一个念头冒了出来：他挽救过古德森的财产吗？不行，这办不到——他是个穷光蛋。救过他的命？对呀。正是。哎呀，他早就该想到这一点了。这一次他总算走对了路，毫无疑问。顷刻之间，他的想象机器就使劲转了起来。
在此后的整整两个小时里，他呕心沥血，忙于拯救古德森的性命。他尝试着历尽各种艰险救古德森一命。每次救命行动都推进到了一个功德的地步；就在他开始深信这一行动确有其事的时候，总会冒出一个细节来捣乱，把整个事情都搅成无稽之谈。就拿救落水的古德森这个例子来说。这一次他劈波斩浪向前冲，把不省人事的古德森拖上岸来，四周还有一大群人围观喝彩；可是，正当他已经把整个过程想好，开始把这一切铭记在心的时候，一大堆拆台的细节却纷至沓来：这种事情镇上的人们总得知道吧，玛丽总得知道吧；自己的记忆里如果有这种事情，也会像打着灯笼一样照得清清楚楚，这又不是那种不足挂齿的小事，怎么会做完还“不知道帮了人家多大的忙”呢。还有，到了这个地步，他才想起来：自己还不会凫水呢。
啊——有一点他从开始就忽略了：这件事必须是他已经帮了别人的忙却“不知道这忙帮得究竟有多大”。唉，真是的，要找这样的事应该是不费吹灰之力嘛——比找其他事情容易多了。果然如此，不久他就想出了一件。好多好多年以前，古德森眼看就要和一个名叫南茜·体维特的非常漂亮的甜妞成亲，但是出于种种原因，这桩婚事后来还是吹了；那姑娘死了，古德森依然是个单身汉，而且慢慢变成了一个尖酸刻薄瞧谁都不顺眼的家伙。那姑娘死后不久，镇子上的人就发现，或是自以为早就知道：她有一点点黑人血统。理查兹把各种细枝末节想了半天，感到他终于想起了一些与此有关的事情，这些事情一定是因为好多年无暇顾及，已经从记忆中消失了。他似乎隐隐约约记得，当初就是他自己发现姑娘沾点儿黑人血统，也是他把这个消息告诉了镇子上的人，镇子上的人也告诉了古德森他们是从哪里得来的消息；他就如此这般地挽救了古德森，使他免于和那个血统不纯的姑娘结婚。他帮了古德森一个大忙，却“不知道这个忙帮得有多大”，说实在的，他根本就不知道是在帮人家的忙，可是古德森明白帮这个忙的价值，也明白他是怎样侥幸逃脱的，于是才在临死前对帮他忙的人千恩万谢，巴不得能留给他一笔财产。现在全都弄清楚了，事情再简单不过，他越想这件事就越明白、越实在；最后，当他舒舒服服地躺下，心满意足、高高兴兴准备睡觉的时候，这件事在他的记忆中就像是昨天刚刚发生的一样。说真的，他还能隐约记得古德森有一次对他表示过谢意。就在理查兹思考的这段时间里，玛丽已经为她自己花了六千元买新房子，还给她的牧师买了一双拖鞋，此刻她安安稳稳地睡着了。
就在这个星期六的晚上，邮递员给镇子上的其他各位大户分别送去了一封信——一共送了十九封。每个信封都不一样，信封上的笔迹各不相同，可是里面的信除了一个地方之外分毫不差。每封信都和理查兹收到的那一封如出一辙——笔迹和其他一切——所有信的落款都是史蒂文森，只是在有理查兹名字的地方换上了其他收信人的名字。
整整一夜，那十八位本镇大户在同样的时间里做了与他们同命相连的理查兹做的同一件事——他们集中精力，想记起他们曾在无意中给巴克利·古德森帮过什么忙。无论对谁来说，这都不是、桩轻而易举的工作；然而他们都成功了。
在他们从事这项艰苦工作的同时，他们的妻子却用了一夜的时间来轻轻松松地花钱。一夜之间，十九位太太平均每人把那只口袋里的四万块钱花了七千块——加起来一共是十三万三千块钱。
第二天杰克·哈里代大吃一惊。他看出镇上的十九位要人及其夫人脸上重新呈现出安详圣洁的快乐神情。对此他不光难以理解，也想不出词来消除或者扰乱这种情绪。现在该轮到他对生活感到不满了。他暗自对这种快乐的起因作了诸多猜测，然而一经推敲，没有一条能站得住脚。他碰见威尔科克斯太太的时候，看见她那心醉神迷的样子，就想道：“她家的猫生了小猫咪了”——去问她家的厨子：结果并无此事。厨子也发觉了这四喜气，却不知道喜从何来。哈里代发现“老实人”（镇上人送的外号）比尔逊脸上也有心醉神迷的表情，就断定比尔逊的哪一家邻居摔断了腿，但是调查表明，此事也未曾发生。格里高利·耶茨强忍着得意忘形只可能有一种原因——他的丈母娘死了：结果又猜错了。“那么平克顿——平克顿——他一定是要回来一角钱的老账，这笔钱他本来以为没有盼头了。”如此等等。有的猜测只能存疑，有些则业已证明是大错特错。最后，哈里代自言自语地说：“不管怎么样，眼下哈德莱堡有十九家一步登天了。我还不清楚这件事的前因后果，我只知道上帝今天不值班。”
有一位邻州的设计师兼建筑商近日来到这个前景暗淡的镇子，冒险办了一家小公司，挂牌已经有一个星期了，还没有一个顾客上门。这人垂头丧气，后悔他不该来。谁料到突然间云开雾散。那些小镇大户的太太们一个接一个来找他，悄悄地说：
“下星期一到我们家来——不过这件事你先别声张。我们正打算盖房子哪。”
"Next time be hanged! It won't come in a thousand years."
Then the friends separated without a good-night, and dragged themselves home with the gait of mortally stricken men. At their homes their wives sprang up with an eager "Well?"--then saw the answer with their eyes and sank down sorrowing, without waiting for it to come in words. In both houses a discussion followed of a heated sort--a new thing; there had been discussions before, but not heated ones, not ungentle ones. The discussions to-night were a sort of seeming plagiarisms of each other. Mrs. Richards said:
"If you had only waited, Edward--if you had only stopped to think; but no, you must run straight to the printing-office and spread it all over the world."
"It SAID publish it."
"That is nothing; it also said do it privately, if you liked. There, now--is that true, or not?"
"Why, yes--yes, it is true; but when I thought what a stir it would make, and what a compliment it was to Hadleyburg that a stranger should trust it so--"
"Oh, certainly, I know all that; but if you had only stopped to think, you would have seen that you COULDN'T find the right man, because he is in his grave, and hasn't left chick nor child nor relation behind him; and as long as the money went to somebody that awfully needed it, and nobody would be hurt by it, and--and--"
She broke down, crying. Her husband tried to think of some comforting thing to say, and presently came out with this:
"But after all, Mary, it must be for the best--it must be; we know that. And we must remember that it was so ordered--"
"Ordered! Oh, everything's ORDERED, when a person has to find some way out when he has been stupid. Just the same, it was ORDERED that the money should come to us in this special way, and it was you that must take it on yourself to go meddling with the designs of Providence--and who gave you the right? It was wicked, that is what it was--just blasphemous presumption, and no more becoming to a meek and humble professor of--"
"But, Mary, you know how we have been trained all our lives long, like the whole village, till it is absolutely second nature to us to stop not a single moment to think when there's an honest thing to be done--"
"Oh, I know it, I know it--it's been one everlasting training and training and training in honesty--honesty shielded, from the very cradle, against every possible temptation, and so it's ARTIFICIAL honesty, and weak as water when temptation comes, as we have seen this night. God knows I never had shade nor shadow of a doubt of my petrified and indestructible honesty until now--and now, under the very first big and real temptation, I--Edward, it is my belief that this town's honesty is as rotten as mine is; as rotten as yours. It is a mean town, a hard, stingy town, and hasn't a virtue in the world but this honesty it is so celebrated for and so conceited about; and so help me, I do believe that if ever the day comes that its honesty falls under great temptation, its grand reputation will go to ruin like a house of cards. There, now, I've made confession, and I feel better; I am a humbug, and I've been one all my life, without knowing it. Let no man call me honest again--I will not have it."
"I-- Well, Mary, I feel a good deal as you do: I certainly do. It seems strange, too, so strange. I never could have believed it-- never."
A long silence followed; both were sunk in thought. At last the wife looked up and said:
"I know what you are thinking, Edward."
Richards had the embarrassed look of a person who is caught.
"I am ashamed to confess it, Mary, but--"
"It's no matter, Edward, I was thinking the same question myself."
"I hope so. State it."
"You were thinking, if a body could only guess out WHAT THE REMARK WAS that Goodson made to the stranger."
"It's perfectly true. I feel guilty and ashamed. And you?"
"I'm past it. Let us make a pallet here; we've got to stand watch till the bank vault opens in the morning and admits the sack. . . Oh dear, oh dear--if we hadn't made the mistake!"
The pallet was made, and Mary said:
"The open sesame--what could it have been? I do wonder what that remark could have been. But come; we will get to bed now."
"And sleep?"
"No; think."
"Yes; think."
By this time the Coxes too had completed their spat and their reconciliation, and were turning in--to think, to think, and toss, and fret, and worry over what the remark could possibly have been which Goodson made to the stranded derelict; that golden remark; that remark worth forty thousand dollars, cash.
The reason that the village telegraph-office was open later than usual that night was this: The foreman of Cox's paper was the local representative of the Associated Press. One might say its honorary representative, for it wasn't four times a year that he could furnish thirty words that would be accepted. But this time it was different. His despatch stating what he had caught got an instant answer:
"Send the whole thing--all the details--twelve hundred words."
A colossal order! The foreman filled the bill; and he was the proudest man in the State. By breakfast-time the next morning the name of Hadleyburg the Incorruptible was on every lip in America, from Montreal to the Gulf, from the glaciers of Alaska to the orange-groves of Florida; and millions and millions of people were discussing the stranger and his money-sack, and wondering if the right man would be found, and hoping some more news about the matter would come soon--right away.
II
Hadleyburg village woke up world-celebrated--astonished--happy-- vain. Vain beyond imagination. Its nineteen principal citizens and their wives went about shaking hands with each other, and beaming, and smiling, and congratulating, and saying THIS thing adds a new word to the dictionary--HADLEYBURG, synonym for INCORRUPTIBLE-- destined to live in dictionaries for ever! And the minor and unimportant citizens and their wives went around acting in much the same way. Everybody ran to the bank to see the gold-sack; and before noon grieved and envious crowds began to flock in from Brixton and all neighbouring towns; and that afternoon and next day reporters began to arrive from everywhere to verify the sack and its history and write the whole thing up anew, and make dashing free- hand pictures of the sack, and of Richards's house, and the bank, and the Presbyterian church, and the Baptist church, and the public square, and the town-hall where the test would be applied and the money delivered; and damnable portraits of the Richardses, and Pinkerton the banker, and Cox, and the foreman, and Reverend Burgess, and the postmaster--and even of Jack Halliday, who was the loafing, good-natured, no-account, irreverent fisherman, hunter, boys' friend, stray-dogs' friend, typical "Sam Lawson" of the town. The little mean, smirking, oily Pinkerton showed the sack to all comers, and rubbed his sleek palms together pleasantly, and enlarged upon the town's fine old reputation for honesty and upon this wonderful endorsement of it, and hoped and believed that the example would now spread far and wide over the American world, and be epoch- making in the matter of moral regeneration. And so on, and so on.
By the end of a week things had quieted down again; the wild intoxication of pride and joy had sobered to a soft, sweet, silent delight--a sort of deep, nameless, unutterable content. All faces bore a look of peaceful, holy happiness.
Then a change came. It was a gradual change; so gradual that its beginnings were hardly noticed; maybe were not noticed at all, except by Jack Halliday, who always noticed everything; and always made fun of it, too, no matter what it was. He began to throw out chaffing remarks about people not looking quite so happy as they did a day or two ago; and next he claimed that the new aspect was deepening to positive sadness; next, that it was taking on a sick look; and finally he said that everybody was become so moody, thoughtful, and absent-minded that he could rob the meanest man in town of a cent out of the bottom of his breeches pocket and not disturb his reverie.
At this stage--or at about this stage--a saying like this was dropped at bedtime--with a sigh, usually--by the head of each of the nineteen principal households:
"Ah, what COULD have been the remark that Goodson made?"
And straightway--with a shudder--came this, from the man's wife:
"Oh, DON'T! What horrible thing are you mulling in your mind? Put it away from you, for God's sake!"
But that question was wrung from those men again the next night--and got the same retort. But weaker.
And the third night the men uttered the question yet again--with anguish, and absently. This time--and the following night--the wives fidgeted feebly, and tried to say something. But didn't.
And the night after that they found their tongues and responded-- longingly:
"Oh, if we COULD only guess!"
Halliday's comments grew daily more and more sparklingly disagreeable and disparaging. He went diligently about, laughing at the town, individually and in mass. But his laugh was the only one left in the village: it fell upon a hollow and mournful vacancy and emptiness. Not even a smile was findable anywhere. Halliday carried a cigar-box around on a tripod, playing that it was a camera, and halted all passers and aimed the thing and said "Ready! --now look pleasant, please," but not even this capital joke could surprise the dreary faces into any softening.
So three weeks passed--one week was left. It was Saturday evening after supper. Instead of the aforetime Saturday-evening flutter and bustle and shopping and larking, the streets were empty and desolate. Richards and his old wife sat apart in their little parlour--miserable and thinking. This was become their evening habit now: the life-long habit which had preceded it, of reading, knitting, and contented chat, or receiving or paying neighbourly calls, was dead and gone and forgotten, ages ago--two or three weeks ago; nobody talked now, nobody read, nobody visited--the whole village sat at home, sighing, worrying, silent. Trying to guess out that remark.
The postman left a letter. Richards glanced listlessly at the superscription and the post-mark--unfamiliar, both--and tossed the letter on the table and resumed his might-have-beens and his hopeless dull miseries where he had left them off. Two or three hours later his wife got wearily up and was going away to bed without a good-night--custom now--but she stopped near the letter and eyed it awhile with a dead interest, then broke it open, and began to skim it over. Richards, sitting there with his chair tilted back against the wall and his chin between his knees, heard something fall. It was his wife. He sprang to her side, but she cried out:
"Leave me alone, I am too happy. Read the letter--read it!"
He did. He devoured it, his brain reeling. The letter was from a distant State, and it said:
"I am a stranger to you, but no matter: I have something to tell. I have just arrived home from Mexico, and learned about that episode. Of course you do not know who made that remark, but I know, and I am the only person living who does know. It was GOODSON. I knew him well, many years ago. I passed through your village that very night, and was his guest till the midnight train came along. I overheard him make that remark to the stranger in the dark--it was in Hale Alley. He and I talked of it the rest of the way home, and while smoking in his house. He mentioned many of your villagers in the course of his talk--most of them in a very uncomplimentary way, but two or three favourably: among these latter yourself. I say 'favourably'--nothing stronger. I remember his saying he did not actually LIKE any person in the town--not one; but that you--I THINK he said you--am almost sure--had done him a very great service once, possibly without knowing the full value of it, and he wished he had a fortune, he would leave it to you when he died, and a curse apiece for the rest of the citizens. Now, then, if it was you that did him that service, you are his legitimate heir, and entitled to the sack of gold. I know that I can trust to your honour and honesty, for in a citizen of Hadleyburg these virtues are an unfailing inheritance, and so I am going to reveal to you the remark, well satisfied that if you are not the right man you will seek and find the right one and see that poor Goodson's debt of gratitude for the service referred to is paid. This is the remark 'YOU ARE FAR FROM BEING A BAD MAN: GO, AND REFORM.'
"HOWARD L. STEPHENSON."
"Oh, Edward, the money is ours, and I am so grateful, OH, so grateful,--kiss me, dear, it's for ever since we kissed--and we needed it so--the money--and now you are free of Pinkerton and his bank, and nobody's slave any more; it seems to me I could fly for joy."
It was a happy half-hour that the couple spent there on the settee caressing each other; it was the old days come again--days that had begun with their courtship and lasted without a break till the stranger brought the deadly money. By-and-by the wife said:
"Oh, Edward, how lucky it was you did him that grand service, poor Goodson! I never liked him, but I love him now. And it was fine and beautiful of you never to mention it or brag about it." Then, with a touch of reproach, "But you ought to have told ME, Edward, you ought to have told your wife, you know."
"Well, I--er--well, Mary, you see--"
"Now stop hemming and hawing, and tell me about it, Edward. I always loved you, and now I'm proud of you. Everybody believes there was only one good generous soul in this village, and now it turns out that you-- Edward, why don't you tell me?"
"Well--er--er--Why, Mary, I can't!"
"You CAN'T? WHY can't you?"
"You see, he--well, he--he made me promise I wouldn't."
The wife looked him over, and said, very slowly:
"Made--you--promise? Edward, what do you tell me that for?"
"Mary, do you think I would lie?"
She was troubled and silent for a moment, then she laid her hand within his and said:
"No . . . no. We have wandered far enough from our bearings--God spare us that! In all your life you have never uttered a lie. But now--now that the foundations of things seem to be crumbling from under us, we--we--" She lost her voice for a moment, then said, brokenly, "Lead us not into temptation. . . I think you made the promise, Edward. Let it rest so. Let us keep away from that ground. Now--that is all gone by; let us he happy again; it is no time for clouds."
Edward found it something of an effort to comply, for his mind kept wandering--trying to remember what the service was that he had done Goodson.
The couple lay awake the most of the night, Mary happy and busy, Edward busy, but not so happy. Mary was planning what she would do with the money. Edward was trying to recall that service. At first his conscience was sore on account of the lie he had told Mary--if it was a lie. After much reflection--suppose it WAS a lie? What then? Was it such a great matter? Aren't we always ACTING lies? Then why not tell them? Look at Mary--look what she had done. While he was hurrying off on his honest errand, what was she doing? Lamenting because the papers hadn't been destroyed and the money kept. Is theft better than lying?
THAT point lost its sting--the lie dropped into the background and left comfort behind it. The next point came to the front: HAD he rendered that service? Well, here was Goodson's own evidence as reported in Stephenson's letter; there could be no better evidence than that--it was even PROOF that he had rendered it. Of course. So that point was settled. . . No, not quite. He recalled with a wince that this unknown Mr. Stephenson was just a trifle unsure as to whether the performer of it was Richards or some other--and, oh dear, he had put Richards on his honour! He must himself decide whither that money must go--and Mr. Stephenson was not doubting that if he was the wrong man he would go honourably and find the right one. Oh, it was odious to put a man in such 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 in Stephenson's mind as indicating the right man, and not some other man's name? That looked good. Yes, that looked very good. In fact it went on looking better and better, straight along--until by-and- by it grew into positive PROOF. And then Richards put the matter at once out of his mind, for he had a private instinct that a proof once established is better left so.
He was feeling reasonably comfortable now, but there was still one other detail that kept pushing itself on his notice: of course he had done that service--that was settled; but what WAS that service? He must recall it--he would not go to sleep till he had recalled it; it would make his peace of mind perfect. And so he thought and thought. He thought of a dozen things--possible services, even probable services--but none of them seemed adequate, none of them seemed large enough, none of them seemed worth the money--worth the fortune Goodson had wished he could leave in his will. And besides, he couldn't remember having done them, anyway. Now, then--now, then--what KIND of a service would it be that would make a man so inordinately grateful? Ah--the saving of his soul! That must be it. Yes, he could remember, now, how he once set himself the task of converting Goodson, and laboured at it as much as--he was going to 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 thunder and mind his own business--HE wasn't hankering to follow Hadleyburg to heaven!
So that solution was a failure--he hadn't saved Goodson's soul. Richards was discouraged. Then after a little came another idea: had he saved Goodson's property? No, that wouldn't do--he hadn't any. His life? That is it! Of course. Why, he might have thought of it before. This time he was on the right track, sure. His imagination-mill was hard at work in a minute, now.
Thereafter, during a stretch of two exhausting hours, he was busy saving Goodson'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 really happened, a troublesome detail would turn up which made the whole thing impossible. As in the matter of drowning, for instance. In that case he had swum out and tugged Goodson ashore in an unconscious state with a great crowd looking on and applauding, but when he had got it all thought out and was just beginning to remember all about it, a whole swarm of disqualifying details arrived on the ground: the town would have known of the circumstance, Mary would have known of it, it would glare like a limelight in his own memory instead of being an inconspicuous service which he had possibly rendered "without knowing its full value." And at this point he remembered that he couldn't swim anyway.