Mahaffy in a tone of absolute exasperation.

"Where would I get fifty?" inquired the judge mildly.

For once Mahaffy frankly owned himself beaten. A gleam of
admiration lit up his glance.

"Price, you have a streak of real greatness!" he declared.

Before the day was over it was generally believed that the judge
was wearing his gag with humility; interest in him declined,
still the public would have been grateful for a sight of that
letter.

"Shucks, he's nothing but an old windbag!" said Mr. Pegloe to a
group of loungers gathered before his tavern in the early
evening.

As he spoke, the judge's door opened and that gentleman appeared
on his threshold with a lighted candle in each hand. Glancing
neither to the right nor the left he passed out and up the
street. Not a breath of wind was blowing and the flames of the
two candles burnt clear and strong, lighting up his stately
advance.

At the corner of the court-house green stood a row of locust
hitching posts. Two of these the judge decorated with his
candles, next he measured off fifteen paces, strides as liberal
as he could make them without sacrifice to his dignity; he scored
a deep line in the dust with the heel of his boot, toed it