If anybody had noticed Tom’s face at that time, the gray-green color of it might have provoked curiosity; but nobody did.  He said to himself:  “I’m gone!  I never can square up; the rest of the plunder won’t pawn or sell for half of the bill.  Oh, I know it—­I’m gone, I’m gone—­and this time it’s for good.  Oh, this is awful—­I don’t know what to do, nor which way to turn!”

“Softly, softly,” said Wilson to Blake.  “I planned their scheme for them at midnight last night, and it was all finished up shipshape by two this morning.  They’ll get their dagger back, and then I’ll explain to you how the thing was done.”

There were strong signs of a general curiosity, and Buckstone said: 

“Well, you have whetted us up pretty sharp.  Wilson, and I’m free to say that if you don’t mind telling us in confidence—­”

“Oh, I’d as soon tell as not, Buckstone, but as long as the twins and I agreed to say nothing about it, we must let it stand so.  But you can take my word for it, you won’t be kept waiting three days.  Somebody will apply for that reward pretty promptly, and I’ll show you the thief and the dagger both very soon afterward.”

The constable was disappointed, and also perplexed.  He said: 

“It may all be—­yes, and I hope it will, but I’m blamed if I can see my way through it.  It’s too many for yours truly.”

The subject seemed about talked out.  Nobody seemed to have anything further to offer.  After a silence the justice of the peace informed Wilson that he and Buckstone and the constable had come as a committee, on the part of the Democratic party, to ask him to run for mayor—­for the little town was about to become a city and the first charter election was approaching.  It was the first attention which Wilson had ever received at the hands of any party; it was a sufficiently humble one, but it was a recognition of his debut into the town’s life and activities at last; it was a step upward, and he was deeply gratified.  He accepted, and the committee departed, followed by young Tom.

CHAPTER 14 —­ Roxana Insists Upon Reform

The true Southern watermelon is a boon apart, and not to be mentioned with commoner things.  It is chief of this world’s luxuries, king by the grace of God over all the fruits of the earth.  When one has tasted it, he knows what the angels eat.  It was not a Southern watermelon that Eve took:  we know it because she repented. —­Pudd’nhead Wilson’s Calendar

About the time that Wilson was bowing the committee out, Pembroke Howard was entering the next house to report.  He found the old judge sitting grim and straight in his chair, waiting.

“Well, Howard—­the news?”

“The best in the world.”

“Accepts, does he?” and the light of battle gleamed joyously in the Judge’s eye.

“Accepts?  Why he jumped at it.”