"My advice to you," he said to Markle, "is that if you think you're going
to have to kill this man in self-defence"--he rolled an unabashed and
comical eye at the company--"you be sure to see our old friend, Sheriff
Webb, gets you to jail promptly." He heaved to his feet, "Might even send
him advance word," he suggested, and waddled away toward the bar.

A dead silence succeeded his departure. None of the younger men ventured a
word. Finally Judge Girvin, with a belated idea of upholding the honour of
the bench, turned to Keith.

"Judge Caldwell's humour is a little trying at times, but he is
essentially sound."

The young Englishman, Morrell, uttered a high cackle.

"Quite right," he observed; "he'll fix it all right for you, Markle."

At the bad taste of what they thought an example of English stupidity every
one sat aghast. Keith managed to cover the situation by ordering another
round of drinks. Morrell seemed quite pleased with himself.

"Got a rise out of the old Johnny, what?" he remarked to Keith aside.

Judge Caldwell returned. The conversation became general. Vast projects
were discussed with the light touch--public works, the purchase of a
theatre for the town hall, the sale by auction of city or state lands, the
extension of wharves, the granting of franchises, and many other affairs,
involving, apparently, millions of money. All these things were spoken of
as from the inside. Keith, sipping his drinks quietly, sat apart and
listened. He felt himself in the current of big affairs. Occasionally, men