A burning mist before his eyes, he shuffled down the hall, down
the steps, and into the shaded, trampled space that was known as
the court-house yard. Here he paused irresolutely. Across the
way was the gun-maker's shop, the weather-beaten sign came within
range of his vision, and the dingy white letters on their black
ground spelled themselves out. The words seemed to carry some
message, for the judge, with his eyes fixed on the sign as on
some beacon of hope, plunged across the dusty road and entered
the shop.


At supper that night it was plain to both Mr. Mahaffy and
Hannibal that the judge was in a state of mind best described as
beatific. The tenderest consideration, the gentlest courtesy
flowed from him as from an unfailing spring; not that he was
ever, even in his darkest hours, socially remiss, but there was
now a special magnificence to his manner that bred suspicion in
Mahaffy's soul. When he noted that the judge's shoes were
extremely dusty, this suspicion shaped itself definitely. He was
convinced that on the strength of his prospective fee the judge
had gone to Belle Plain, for what purpose Mr. Mahaffy knew only
too well.

"It took you some time to get up that abstract, didn't it,
Price?" he presently said, with artful indirection.

"I shall go on with that in the morning, Solomon; my interest was
dissipated this evening," rejoined the judge.

"Looks as though you had devoted a good part of your time to