The little newspaper which Aleck had subscribed¹ for was a Thursday sheet; it would make the trip of five hundred miles from Tilbury's village and arrive on Saturday. Tilbury's letter had started on Friday, more than a day too late for the benefactor² to die and get into that week's issue, but in plenty of time to make connection for the next output. Thus the Fosters had to wait almost a complete week to find out whether anything of a satisfactory nature had happened to him or not. It was a long, long week, and the strain was a heavy one. The pair could hardly have borne it if their minds had not had the relief of wholesome³ diversion. We have seen that they had that. The woman was piling up fortunes right along, the man was spending them-- spending all his wife would give him a chance at, at any rate.

At last the Saturday came, and the WEEKLY SAGAMORE arrived. Mrs. Eversly Bennett was present. She was the Presbyterian parson's wife, and was working the Fosters for a charity. Talk now died a sudden death--on the Foster side. Mrs. Bennett presently discovered that her hosts were not hearing a word she was saying; so she got up, wondering and indignant, and went away. The moment she was out of the house, Aleck eagerly tore the wrapper from the paper, and her eyes and Sally's swept the columns for the death-notices. Disappointment! Tilbury was not anywhere mentioned. Aleck was a Christian⁴ from the cradle, and duty and the force of habit required her to go through the motions. She pulled herself together and said, with a pious⁵ two-per-cent. trade joyousness⁶:

"Let us be humbly⁷ thankful that he has been spared; and--"

"Damn his treacherous⁸ hide, I wish--"

"Sally! For shame!"

"I don't care!" retorted the angry man. "It's the way YOU feel, and if you weren't so immorally⁹ pious you'd be honest and say so."

Aleck said, with wounded dignity:

"I do not see how you can say such unkind and unjust things. There is no such thing as immoral¹⁰ piety¹¹."

Sally felt a pang¹², but tried to conceal¹³ it under a shuffling¹⁴ attempt to save his case by changing the form of it--as if changing the form while retaining the juice could deceive the expert he was trying to placate¹⁵. He said:

"I didn't mean so bad as that, Aleck; I didn't really mean immoral piety, I only meant--meant--well, conventional piety, you know; er--shop piety; the--the--why, YOU know what I mean. Aleck--the--well, where you put up that plated article and play it for solid, you know, without intending anything improper¹⁶, but just out of trade habit, ancient policy, petrified¹⁷ custom, loyalty¹⁸ to--to--hang it, I can't find the right words, but YOU know what I mean, Aleck, and that there isn't any harm in it. I'll try again. You see, it's this way. If a person--"

"You have said quite enough," said Aleck, coldly; "let the subject be dropped."

"I'M willing," fervently¹⁹ responded Sally, wiping the sweat from his forehead and looking the thankfulness he had no words for. Then, musingly²⁰, he apologized to himself. "I certainly held threes-- I KNOW it--but I drew and didn't fill. That's where I'm so often weak in the game. If I had stood pat--but I didn't. I never do. I don't know enough."

Confessedly defeated, he was properly tame now and subdued²¹. Aleck forgave him with her eyes.

The grand interest, the supreme²² interest, came instantly to the front again; nothing could keep it in the background many minutes on a stretch. The couple took up the puzzle of the absence of Tilbury's death-notice. They discussed it every which way, more or less hopefully, but they had to finish where they began, and concede that the only really sane²³ explanation of the absence of the notice must be--and without doubt was--that Tilbury was not dead. There was something sad about it, something even a little unfair, maybe, but there it was, and had to be put up with. They were agreed as to that. To Sally it seemed a strangely inscrutable dispensation; more inscrutable than usual, he thought; one of the most unnecessary inscrutable he could call to mind, in fact--and said so, with some feeling; but if he was hoping to draw Aleck he failed; she reserved her opinion, if she had one; she had not the habit of taking injudicious risks in any market, worldly or other.

The pair must wait for next week's paper--Tilbury had evidently postponed²⁴. That was their thought and their decision. So they put the subject away and went about their affairs again with as good heart as they could.

Now, if they had but known it, they had been wronging Tilbury all the time. Tilbury had kept faith, kept it to the letter; he was dead, he had died to schedule. He was dead more than four days now and used to it; entirely²⁵ dead, perfectly²⁶ dead, as dead as any other new person in the cemetery²⁷; dead in abundant time to get into that week's SAGAMORE, too, and only shut out by an accident; an accident which could not happen to a metropolitan²⁸ journal, but which happens easily to a poor little village rag like the SAGAMORE. On this occasion, just as the editorial page was being locked up, a gratis²⁹ quart of strawberry ice-water arrived from Hostetter's Ladies and Gents Ice-Cream Parlors³⁰, and the stickful of rather chilly³¹ regret over Tilbury's translation got crowded out to make room for the editor's frantic³² gratitude³³.

On its way to the standing-galley Tilbury's notice got pied. Otherwise it would have gone into some future edition, for WEEKLY SAGAMORES do not waste "live" matter, and in their galleys³⁴ "live" matter is immortal³⁵, unless a pi accident intervenes. But a thing that gets pied is dead, and for such there is no resurrection; its chance of seeing print is gone, forever and ever. And so, let Tilbury like it or not, let him rave³⁶ in his grave to his fill, no matter--no mention of his death would ever see the light in the WEEKLY SAGAMORE.

艾莱柯订的那份小报是周四出报，周六那份报纸才能从提尔伯里的村子跋涉五百里抵达这里。提尔伯里的那封信是周五写的，就算他当时就死，也晚了一天，赶不上当周的报纸，不过离下一周的出报时间还早着呢。这样，福斯特一家还要等差不多整整一个星期，才能知道提尔伯里是不是已经功德圆满了。这个星期好长好长，那根弦绷得好紧好紧。要是不想点有益身心的事儿，他们夫妻俩简直要顶不住了。我们已经看到，他们并不缺有益身心的事。女的正一个劲儿地忙着积累财富，男的忙着花钱——只要妻子给他花钱的机会，不论大钱小钱都无所谓。

终于到了周六，那份《萨加摩尔周报》来了。是埃弗斯利·本内特太太送来的。她是长老会牧师的妻子，正在劝说福斯特夫妇积德行善，捐一笔钱。可是，话头还没展开，就戛然而止——责任全在福斯特家一方。本内特太大很快就发现，两位主人对她的话充耳不闻。她摸不着头脑，气呼呼地起身告辞了。本内特太太刚出门，艾莱柯就迫不及待地撕开了报纸的封套，她和萨利的眼光一起齐刷刷地掠过报上的讣告栏。真是大失所望！哪儿也没提到提尔伯里。艾莱柯从小就是个基督徒，基督徒的规矩和习惯的力量都约束着她的情感。她定了定神，用备感欣慰的口气说：

“谢天谢地，他还没有过去哪。再说——”

“这个老不死的，我真想——”

“萨利！你不害臊吗？”

“我才不在乎呢！”丈夫怒气冲冲地回答，“咱们心里想的都一样，要不是假仁假义地装蒜，你也会实话实说。”

艾莱柯的尊严受到了伤害，她说：

“我真不知道你怎么能说出这种不仁不义的话来，我什么时候假仁假义来着？”

萨利还是愤愤不平，不过他想换一种说法蒙混过关，同艾莱柯休战——好像换汤不换药就能把这位行家里手瞒过去似的。萨利说：

“艾莱柯，我可没那么坏，我原来的意思不是说假仁假义，我是说——是说——信教的那老一套，你明白吗？唔，就是生意人那一套。就是——就是——嗨，你明白我是什么意思。艾莱柯——就是——比如说，要是你拿一个空壳子摆出来当实心的东西，你也不觉得这事有什么不妥当，这不过是生意人的习惯，是从古到今的老规矩，是一成不变的风俗，是守——守——妈的，我找不出合适的词来，反正你明白我的意思，艾莱柯，这里头没有什么害人之心。我再试试换一种说法，你瞧，比如说一个人——”

“你说得够多了，”艾莱柯冷冷地说，“咱们别再说这个啦。”

“好吧，好吧，”萨利热情洋溢地答道，他擦着脑门上的汗，好像不知道怎么表达他的谢意才是。他沉思着做自我批评：“我本来拿了一把好牌——我明明知道是好牌——可我光抓在手里没打出去。我打牌总是犯这个毛病。要是我能坚决一点——可我没有。我从来没有。我的学问还不够啊。”

自认吃了败仗，他也就俯首帖耳了。艾莱柯的眼神宽恕了他。

那个很有兴趣、最有兴趣的问题马上回来了。无论什么事情也只能把它压一小会儿。这对夫妇又开始猜报上为什么没有提尔伯里死讯的哑谜。他们猜过来，猜过去，一会儿走投无路，一会儿又柳暗花明；可是转了一个大圈子，他们又回到原地，承认之所以没有提尔伯里的讣告，惟一真正合理的解释——毫无疑问——就是提尔伯里还没死。这事有点儿让人泄气，甚至可能有那么一点儿不公平；不过事已至此，也只有听其自然了。他们对此看法一致。在萨利看来，虽然天意如此，毕竟反常，不可思议。说实话，这是他能想到的最不可思议的事情之———想到这里，他也就带着几分情绪说了出来。不过，要是他的本意是想引出艾莱柯的话来，那就落空了。艾莱柯就算有想法，也都藏在心里。别管是在人世还是去阴间，她的习惯是在所有场合都不轻举妄动。

这对夫妇只有等着下周的报纸——显然提尔伯里是拖延了死期。这就是他们的想法和决定。于是他们就把这件事撂在一边，尽力打起好心情各自忙他们的事去了。

他们并不知道自己完全错怪了提尔伯里。那封信上提到的事，提尔伯里说到做到。他已经死了，按期死了。如今他死了四天多，已经安息了。死得彻头彻尾，死得完完全全，和公墓里头的每一位新鬼并无不同。提尔伯里死讯有足够的时间上《萨加摩尔周报》的讣告栏，只因一点点疏漏却没能上去。这种疏漏任何一家都市报纸从不会出，可是对《萨加摩尔周报》这样的乡村小报来说，却不足为奇。这一次是在社评版截稿的时候，霍斯提特绅士淑女冰激凌店白送了一夸脱草莓冰激凌，于是，为提尔伯里写的那几句平平淡淡的悼词就给抽掉了，腾出版面来刊载编辑对冰激凌店热情洋溢的谢辞。

提尔伯里的讣告字版送到备用架上的时候，被弄乱了。本来，这条讣告将来还可以用，因为《萨加摩尔周报》从来不糟蹋“备用”稿，只要字版不乱，“备用”稿就常备不懈。可是只要字版一乱，稿子就算完了，不会起死回生，也就永远没有见报的机会了。所以，不管提尔伯里高不高兴，就算他在坟墓里暴跳如雷，也无济于事——他的死讯在《萨加摩尔周报》上永无出头之日了。