THE MAN THAT CORRUPTED HADLEYBURG

It was many years ago.  Hadleyburg was the most honest and upright town in all the region round about.  It had kept that reputation unsmirched during three generations, and was prouder of it than of any other of its possessions.  It was so proud of it, and so anxious to insure its perpetuation, that it began to teach the principles of honest dealing to its babies in the cradle, and made the like teachings the staple of their culture thenceforward through all the years devoted to their education.  Also, throughout the formative years temptations were kept out of the way of the young people, so that their honesty could have every chance to harden and solidify, and become a part of their very bone.  The neighbouring towns were jealous of this honourable supremacy, and affected to sneer at Hadleyburg’s pride in it and call it vanity; but all the same they were obliged to acknowledge that Hadleyburg was in reality an incorruptible town; and if pressed they would also acknowledge that the mere fact that a young man hailed from Hadleyburg was all the recommendation he needed when he went forth from his natal town to seek for responsible employment.

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.