t 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