“Blood-money?” said the Chairman. “Why, where is the difference between catching a murderer and insuring his death, and taking the reward for it?”
“That is just all the difference,” said Tom, “to my mind. To secure a murderer is every man’s bounden duty. To take a reward for getting a man put out of life—well, gentlemen, it may be all the same, but I’m an uneducated man, and can’t see it so. Excuse me, but I cannot accept the money—it would burn my pocket-bottom out in no time. No, gentlemen, no man shall say I did what I did for money.”
Tom made his bow, and retired, to the great astonishment of the whole bench, except Sir Henry Clavering and Mr. Degge; the Chairman observing, as the door closed after Tom, “A crotchety fellow, after all.”
George Woodburn, who had received orders from Miss Drury to pay to Tom the two hundred pounds offered by herself and mother, said, “Well, Tom, so you cannot receive this money, then?”
“No, sir,” said Tom, “I can’t do it, anyhow. I am glad that arch rogue is out of the way of doing further mischief; but to get rich on any man’s death—it’s not the thing, somehow.”
“I can understand you, Tom,” said George, “though the greater part of the magistrates could not.”
“And do you know, sir,” said Tom, “I can tell you what I could not tell them justices? Freddy—the poor boy who taught me to play on the pipe and the lark-whistle—has been to me again and again in dreams, and said, ‘Don’t touch that money, Tom—none of it! You’ve done your duty, and may sleep on it; but don’t let any envious fellow say you did it to get the three hundred pounds. No, don’t touch it, Tom—don’t touch it.’ And that is just as it stands, sir. I can’t take it. My dutiful thanks to Miss Drury, however.” And Tom went off about his business.
Tom did not suffer for his conscientiousness, though many, very many people said he was more nice than wise. Mr. Heritage called Tom the next morning into the library, praised his disinterested conduct, and gave him a bit of paper, which, on reading, he found was the promise of his cottage and garden rent-free for his life, and his wife’s life, if she survived him. Tom was greatly affected. Without saying anything to him, Mr. Simon Degge, Sir Henry Clavering, Mr. Woodburn, Miss Drury, Mr. Heritage, Mr. Fairfax, Mr. Thorsby, and others, subscribed a sum of money, which they invested, and which would amply suffice to put out Tom’s children at a proper time, and leave a provision for his own and his wife’s old age.
Great was the wonder and the discussion at the village inn, the Grey Goose, at this refusal of Tom Boddily to take money so honestly his due. Howell Crusoe, who used to read the Castleborough papers, and often put in absurd things to mystify his hearers, and once sent them about saying, on his authority, that the great dog of Venus (Doge of Venice) was dead, now read all the account of the trials at Castleborough, and of Tom’s refusal to take the reward.
“Now that’s out-and-out o’er-dainty of Tom Boddily,” said Tim Bentley, the landlord. “It does very well for gentlemen to have such tickle stomachs; but for poor folks like Tom, zounds, it’s a robbing of his family.”