The true Southern watermelon is a boon apart, and not to be mentioned with commoner things. It is chief of this world's luxuries, king by the grace of God over all the fruits of the earth.
When one has tasted it, he knows what the angels eat. It was not a Southern watermelon that Eve took: we know it because she repented.
--Pudd'nhead Wilson's Calendar
About the time that Wilson was bowing the committee out, Pembroke Howard was entering the next house to report.
He found the old judge sitting grim and straight in his chair, waiting.
"Well, Howard--the news?"
"The best in the world."
"Accepts, does he?" and the light of battle gleamed joyously in the Judge's eye.
"Accepts? Why he jumped at it."
"Did, did he? Now that's fine--that's very fine. I like that.
When is it to be?"
"Now! Straight off! Tonight! An admirable fellow--admirable!"
"Admirable? He's a darling! Why, it's an honor as well as a pleasure to stand up before such a man. Come--off with you!
Go and arrange everything--and give him my heartiest compliments.
A rare fellow, indeed; an admirable fellow, as you have said!"
"I'll have him in the vacant stretch between Wilson's and the haunted house within the hour, and I'll bring my own pistols."
Judge Driscoll began to walk the floor in a state of pleased excitement; but presently he stopped, and began to think--began to think of Tom.
Twice he moved toward the secretary, and twice he turned away again; but finally he said:
"This may be my last night in the world--I must not take the chance.
He is worthless and unworthy, but it is largely my fault.
He was entrusted to me by my brother on his dying bed, and I have indulged him to his hurt, instead of training him up severely, and ****** a man of him, I have violated my trust, and I must not add the sin of desertion to that. I have forgiven him once already, and would subject him to a long and hard trial before forgiving him again, if I could live; but I must not run that risk.
No, I must restore the will. But if I survive the duel, I will hide it away, and he will not know, and I will not tell him until he reforms, and I see that his reformation is going to be permanent."
He redrew the will, and his ostensible nephew was heir to a fortune again. As he was finishing his task, Tom, wearied with another brooding tramp, entered the house and went tiptoeing past the sitting room door. He glanced in, and hurried on, for the sight of his uncle was nothing but terrors for him tonight. But his uncle was writing! That was unusual at this late hour. What could he be writing? A chill of anxiety settled down upon Tom's heart.
Did that writing concern him? He was afraid so. He reflected that when ill luck begins, it does not come in sprinkles, but in showers.
He said he would get a glimpse of that document or know the reason why.
He heard someone coming, and stepped out of sight and hearing.
It was Pembroke Howard. What could be hatching?
Howard said, with great satisfaction:
"Everything's right and ready. He's gone to the battleground with his second and the surgeon--also with his brother. I've arranged it all with Wilson--Wilson's his second. We are to have three shots apiece."
"Good! How is the moon?"
"Bright as day, nearly. Perfect, for the distance--fifteen yards.
No wind--not a breath; hot and still."
"All good; all first-rate. Here, Pembroke, read this, and witness it."
Pembroke read and witnessed the will, then gave the old man's hand a hearty shake and said:
"Now that's right, York--but I knew you would do it. You couldn't leave that poor chap to fight along without means or profession, with certain defeat before him, and I knew you wouldn't, for his father's sake if not for his own."
"For his dead father's sake, I couldn't, I know; for poor Percy-- but you know what Percy was to me. But mind--Tom is not to know of this unless I fall tonight."
"I understand. I'll keep the secret."
The judge put the will away, and the two started for the battleground.
In another minute the will was in Tom's hands.
His misery vanished, his feelings underwent a tremendous revulsion.
He put the will carefully back in its place, and spread his mouth and swung his hat once, twice, three times around his head, in imitation of three rousing huzzahs, no sound issuing from his lips.
He fell to communing with himself excitedly and joyously, but every now and then he let off another volley of dumb hurrahs.
He said to himself: "I've got the fortune again, but I'll not let on that I know about it. And this time I'm gong to hang on to it.
I take no more risks. I'll gamble no more, I'll drink no more, because--well, because I'll not go where there is any of that sort of thing going on, again. It's the sure way, and the only sure way;I might have thought of that sooner--well, yes, if I had wanted to.
But now--dear me, I've had a scare this time, and I'll take no more chances. Not a single chance more. Land! I persuaded myself this evening that I could fetch him around without any great amount of effort, but I've been getting more and more heavyhearted and doubtful straight along, ever since. If he tells me about this thing, all right; but if he doesn't, I sha'n't let on. I--well, I'd like to tell Pudd'nhead Wilson, but--no, I'll think about that; perhaps I won't."
He whirled off another dead huzzah, and said, "I'm reformed, and this time I'll stay so, sure!"
He was about to close with a final grand silent demonstration, when he suddenly recollected that Wilson had put it out of his power to pawn or sell the Indian knife, and that he was once more in awful peril of exposure by his creditors for that reason.
His joy collapsed utterly, and he turned away and moped toward the door moaning and lamenting over the bitterness of his luck.
He dragged himself upstairs, and brooded in his room a long time, disconsolate and forlorn, with Luigi's Indian knife for a text.
At last he sighed and said:
