ut waiting for a duel to
help. Three hundred dollars! It's a pile! But he'll never hear of it,
I'm thankful to say. The minute I've cleared it off, I'm safe; and I'll
never touch a card again. Anyway, I won't while he lives, I make oath to
that. I'm entering on my last reform--I know it--yes, and I'll win; but
after that, if I ever slip again I'm gone."

CHAPTER 13 -- Tom Stares at Ruin
_When I reflect upon the number of disagreeable people who I
know have gone to a better world, I am moved to lead a
different life._ --Pudd'nhead Wilson's Calendar
_October. This is one of the peculiarly dangerous months to
speculate in stocks in. The others are July, January,
September, April, November, May, March, June, December,
August, and February._ --Pudd'nhead Wilson's Calendar

Thus mournfully communing with himself, Tom moped along the lane past
Pudd'nhead Wilson's house, and still on and on between fences enclosing
vacant country on each hand till he neared the haunted house, then he
came moping back again, with many sighs and heavy with trouble. He sorely
wanted cheerful company. Rowena! His heart gave a bound at the thought,
but the next thought quieted it--the detested twins would be there.
He was on the inhabited side of Wilson's house, and now as he approached
it, he noticed that the sitting room was lighted. This would do; others
made him feel unwelcome sometimes, but Wilson never failed in courtesy
toward him, and a kindly courtesy does at least save one's feelings, even
if it is not professing to stand for a welcome. Wilson heard footsteps at
his threshold, then the clearing of a throat.
"It's that fickle-tempered, dissipated young goose--poor devil, he find
friends pretty scarce today, likely, after the disgrace of carrying a
personal assault case into a law-court."
A dejected knock. "Come in!"
Tom entered, and dropped into a chair, without saying anything. Wilson
said kindly:
"Why, my boy, you look desolate. Don't take it so hard. Try and forget
you have been kicked."
"Oh, dear," said Tom, wretchedly, "it's not that, Pudd'nhead--it's not
that. It's a thousand times worse than that--oh, yes, a million times
worse."
"Why, Tom, what do you mean? Has Rowena--"
"Flung me? _No_, but the old man has."
Wilson said to himself, "Aha!" and thought of the mysterious girl in the
bedroom. "The Driscolls have been making discoveries!" Then he said
aloud, gravely:
"Tom, there are some kinds of dissipation which--"
"Oh,