The Man That Corrupted Hadleyburg: Section 2 Summary & Analysis

By the next morning, news of the stranger’s sack of gold has traveled far and wide, making it into national newspapers. “Hadleyburg village woke up world-celebrated—astonished—happy—vain,” writes the narrator. “Vain beyond imagination.” Exceedingly proud of their newly reinforced reputation, the Nineteeners walk about shaking hands and congratulating each other, talking unceasingly about how “incorruptible” their town is. Even Jack Halliday—who enjoys making fun of the Nineteeners—is pleased by the news. After a week passes, though, the excitement dies town and turns into something else, as the Nineteeners begin to think longingly about the sack of gold. Halliday notices this and wonders what has come over the town’s most well-respected citizens.

In private, the Nineteeners begin to say things like, “Ah, what could have been the remark that Goodson made?” Each night, their wives scold them for even considering the idea of trying to guess. But as time passes, their protests grow weaker, until finally they find themselves replying with: “Oh, if we could only guess!” Within three weeks, Edward and Mary Richards have stopped reading or chatting before bed. Instead, they both try to guess the remark.

One night, the Richards receive a letter signed by a man named Howard Stephenson. In the note, Stephenson upholds that he is from out of town, but that he heard the news about Hadleyburg’s sack of gold. “Of course you do not know who made that remark,” he writes, “but I know, and I am the only person living who does know. It was GOODSON. I knew him well, many years ago. I passed through your village that very night, and was his guest till the midnight train came along. I overheard him make that remark to the stranger in the dark.” Afterwards, he claims, he and Goodson retired to the latter’s house, where Goodson spoke about his fellow townspeople, berating most of them. However, he spoke “favorably” about several citizens, including—according to Stephenson—Edward Richards.

Edward and Mary continue studying Stephenson’s letter, which reads: “I remember [Goodson] saying he did not actually LIKE any person in the town—not one; but that you—I THINK he said you—am almost sure—had done him a very great service once, possibly without knowing the full value of it, and he wished he had a fortune, he would leave it to you when he died, and a curse apiece for the rest of the citizens.” Going on, he says that if Edward truly is the person Goodson was referring to, then he is the “legitimate heir” of the dead man’s reward. In other words, Edward is “entitled to the sack of gold.”

Stephenson ends his letter with the following words: “I know that I can trust to your honor and honesty, for in a citizen of Hadleyburg these virtues are an unfailing inheritance, and so I am going to reveal to you the remark, well satisfied that if you are not the right man you will seek and find the right one and see that poor Goodson’s debt of gratitude for the service referred to is paid.” The remark that Goodson uttered to the stranger, Stephenson writes, is: “YOU ARE FAR FROM BEING A BAD MAN: GO, AND REFORM.”

Edward and Mary rejoice at the good news, but Edward suddenly realizes that he can’t remember having ever done Goodson a “service.” Still, he tries to put this out of his mind. When Mary asks what, exactly, he did to deserve Goodson’s goodwill, he says he can’t tell her because he promised Goodson he’d never say anything about it. When Mary presses him on this, he says, “Do you think I would lie?” She concedes that he isn’t a liar, saying, “In all your life you have never uttered a lie. But now—now that the foundations of things seem to be crumbling from under us, we—we—” At this point, she breaks off, managing eventually to mutter: “Lead us not into temptation…I think you made the promise, Edward. Let it rest so.”

That night, Mary happily fantasizes about what she will do with the $40,000. Edward, for his part, lies awake trying to think of a scenario in which he deserves Goodson’s reward. He feels guilty about having lied to Mary. That is, “if it was a lie.” Indeed, perhaps he did do something for Goodson. “Had he rendered that service?” he wonders. “Well, here was Goodson’s own evidence as reported in Stephenson’s letter; there could be no better evidence than that—it was even proof that he had rendered it. Of course. So that point was settled…No, not quite. He recalled with a wince that his unknown Mr. Stephenson was just a trifle unsure as to whether the performer of it was Richards or some other—and, oh dear, he had put Richards on his honor!”

The idea of being put “on his honor” daunts Edward, but the mere fact that Stephenson remembered his (Edward’s) name stands out to him as a good sign. “Yes, that looked very good,” the narrator notes. “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.”

Having comforted himself with the idea that “a proof once established is better left so,” Edward turns his mind toward identifying what, exactly, he did to earn Goodson’s gratitude. He goes through a number of scenarios in which he rendered Goodson a “service,” but none of them seem “worth the money.” “And besides,” Twain writes, “he couldn’t remember having done them, anyway.” Edward wonders what kind of service would warrant such a lavish reward. “Ah—the saving of [Goodson’s] soul!” Twain notes. “That must be it. Yes, he could remember, now, how he once set himself the task of converting Goodson, and labored 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.”

Finally, Edward remembers that Goodson—who died a bachelor—was once set to marry a woman named Nancy Hewitt. Unfortunately, Nancy died before their union. “Soon after the girl’s death the village found out […] that she carried a spoonful of negro blood in her veins.” Thinking about this, Edward determines that he was the one who discovered Nancy was African-American. He told the town—he now thinks—and the town told Goodson, which means (according to Edward in this moment) that he “saved Goodson from marrying the tainted girl; that he had done him this great service ‘without knowing the full value of it,’ in fact without knowing that he was doing it; but that Goodson knew the value of it, and what a narrow escape he had had, and so went to his grave grateful to his benefactor and wishing he had a fortune to leave him.”

What Edward and Mary don’t know is that the postman delivered the same letter to all of the Nineteeners. Like the Richardses, these “principal citizens” also managed to convince themselves that they did—as Stephenson suggests—do Goodson a service worthy of a $40,000 reward. Because of this, Jack Halliday is surprised the next day to see all of the Nineteeners—who had previously looked so distracted and upset—acting cheerily once more. In fact, many of them even visit the local architect, informing him that they plan to add to their properties. One couple even sends out invitations to a “fancy-dress ball.” In this way, the Nineteeners recklessly begin to spend money they don’t yet have. When Friday finally comes around, Reverend Burgess is astonished to receive nineteen envelopes, all from people trying to claim ownership of the sack.