บทที่ บทที่ 24 · CHAPTER XXIV. Tom as the Village Hero—Days of Splendor and Nights of

. CHAPTER XXIV. Tom as the Village Hero—Days of Splendor and Nights of

Tom was a glittering hero once more—the pet of the old, the envy of the

young. His name even went into immortal print, for the village paper

magnified him. There were some that believed he would be President, yet,

if he escaped hanging.

As usual, the fickle, unreasoning world took Muff Potter to its bosom

and fondled him as lavishly as it had abused him before. But that sort

of conduct is to the world’s credit; therefore it is not well to find

fault with it.

Tom’s days were days of splendor and exultation to him, but his nights

were seasons of horror. Injun Joe infested all his dreams, and always

with doom in his eye. Hardly any temptation could persuade the boy

to stir abroad after nightfall. Poor Huck was in the same state of

wretchedness and terror, for Tom had told the whole story to the lawyer

the night before the great day of the trial, and Huck was sore afraid

that his share in the business might leak out, yet, notwithstanding

Injun Joe’s flight had saved him the suffering of testifying in court.

The poor fellow had got the attorney to promise secrecy, but what of

that? Since Tom’s harassed conscience had managed to drive him to the

lawyer’s house by night and wring a dread tale from lips that had

been sealed with the dismalest and most formidable of oaths, Huck’s

confidence in the human race was wellnigh obliterated.

Daily Muff Potter’s gratitude made Tom glad he had spoken; but nightly

he wished he had sealed up his tongue.

Half the time Tom was afraid Injun Joe would never be captured; the

other half he was afraid he would be. He felt sure he never could draw a

safe breath again until that man was dead and he had seen the corpse.

Rewards had been offered, the country had been scoured, but no Injun

Joe was found. One of those omniscient and awe-inspiring marvels, a

detective, came up from St. Louis, moused around, shook his head, looked

wise, and made that sort of astounding success which members of that

craft usually achieve. That is to say, he “found a clew.” But you can’t

hang a “clew” for murder, and so after that detective had got through

and gone home, Tom felt just as insecure as he was before.

The slow days drifted on, and each left behind it a slightly lightened

weight of apprehension.