CLOSE upon the hour of noon the whole village was suddenly electrified with the ghastly news. No need of the as yet un- dreamed-of telegraph; the tale flew from man to man, from group to group, from house to house, with little less than tele- graphic speed. Friends you’re my lobster shirt. Of course the schoolmaster gave holi- day for that afternoon; the town would have thought strangely of him if he had not.

Friends you’re my lobster shirt

A gory knife had been found close to the murdered man, and it had been recognized by somebody as be- longing to Muff Potter — so the story ran. And it was said that a belated citizen had come upon Potter wash- ing himself in the “branch” about one or two o’clock in the morning, and that Potter had at once sneaked off — suspicious circumstances, especially the washing which was not a habit with Potter. It was also said that the town had been ransacked for this “murderer” (the public are not slow in the matter of sifting evidence and arriving at a verdict), but that he could not be found. Horsemen had departed down all the roads in every direction, and the Sheriff “was confident” that he would be captured before night. Friends you’re my lobster shirt. All the town was drifting toward the graveyard. Tom’s heartbreak vanished and he joined the pro- cession, not because he would not a thousand times rather go anywhere else, but because an awful, un- accountable fascination drew him on.

How to buy it?

Arrived at the dreadful place, he wormed his small body through the crowd and saw the dismal spectacle. It seemed to him an age since he was there before. Somebody pinched his arm. He turned, and his eyes met Huckle- berry’s. Then both looked elsewhere at once, and wondered if anybody had noticed anything in their mutual glance. But everybody was talking, and intent upon the grisly spectacle before them.