think what?"
"I understand he holds the mortgages of some of them," said Wetherell.
"Shouldn't blame him a great deal ef he did git tired and sell Chester out soon. This thing happens regular as leap year."
"Jethro Bass doesn't seem to frighten you," said the storekeeper.
"Well," said Lem, "I hain't afeard of him, that's so. For the life of me, I can't help likin' him, though he does things that I wouldn't do for all the power in Christendom. Here's Jedge Parkinson's house."
Wetherell remained in the wagon while Lemuel went in to transact his business. The judge's house, outlined in the starlight, was a modest dwelling with a little porch and clambering vines, set back in its own garden behind a picket fence. Presently, from the direction of the lines of light in the shutters, came the sound of voices, Lem's deep and insistent, and another, pitched in a high nasal key, deprecatory and protesting. There was still another, a harsh one that growled something unintelligible, and Wetherell guessed, from the fragments which he heard, that the judge before sitting down to his duty was trying to dissuade the stage driver from a step that was foolhardy. He guessed likewise that Lem was not to be dissuaded. At length a silence followed, then the door swung open, and three figures came down the illuminated path.
"Like to make you acquainted with Jedge Abner Parkinson, Mr. Wetherell, and Jim Irving. Jim's the sheriff of Truro County, and I guess the jedge don't need any recommendation as a lawyer from me. You won't mind stayin' awhile with the jedge while Jim and I go down town with the team? You're both literary folks."
Wetherell followed the judge into the house. He was sallow, tall and spare and stooping, clean-shaven, with a hooked nose and bright eyes--the face of an able and adroit man, and he wore the long black coat of the politician-lawyer. The room was filled with books, and from these Judge Parkinson immediately took his cue, probably through a fear that Wetherell might begin on the subject of Lemuel's errand. However, it instantly became plain that the judge was a true book lover, and despite the fact that Lem's visit had disturbed him not a little, he soon grew animated in a discussion on the merits of Sir Walter Scott, paced the room, pitched his nasal voice higher and higher, covered his table with volumes of that author to illustrate his meaning. Neither of them heard a knock, and they both stared dumfounded at the man who filled the doorway.
It was Jethro Bass!
He entered the room with characteristic unconcern, as if he had just left it on a trivial errand, and without a "How do you do?" or a "Good evening," parted his coat tails, and sat down in the judge's armchair. The judge dropped the volume of Scott on the desk, and as for Wetherell, he realized for once the full meaning of the biblical expression of a man's tongue cleaving to the roof of his mouth; the gleam of one of Jethro's brass buttons caught his eye and held it fascinated.
"Literary talk, Judge?" said Jethro. "D-don't mind me--go on."
"Thought you were at the capital," said the judge, reclaiming some of his self-possession.
"Good many folks thought so," answered Jethro, "g-good many folks."
There was no conceivable answer to this, so the judge sat down with an affectation of ease. He was a man on whom dignity lay heavily, and was not a little ruffled because Wetherell had been a witness of his discomfiture. He leaned back in his chair, then leaned forward, stretching his neck and clearing his throat, a position in which he bore a ludicrous resemblance to a turkey gobbler.
"Most through the Legislature?" inquired the judge.
"'Bout as common," said Jethro.
There was a long silence, and, forgetful for the moment of his own predicament, Wetherell found a fearful fascination in watching the contortions of the victim whose punishment was to precede his. It had been one of the delights of Louis XI to contemplate the movements of a certain churchman whom he had had put in a cage, and some inkling of the pleasure to be derived from this pastime of tyrants dawned on Wetherell. Perhaps the judge, too, thought of this as he looked at "Quentin Durward" on the table.
"I was just sayin' to Lem Hallowell," began the judge, at last, "that I thought he was a little mite hasty--"
"Er--indicted us, Judge?" said Jethro.
The judge and Wetherell heard the question with different emotions. Mr. Parkinson did not seem astonished at the miracle which had put Jethro in possession of this information, but heaved a long sigh of relief, as a man will when the worst has at length arrived.
"I had to, Jethro--couldn't help it. I tried to get Hallowell to wait till you come back and talk it over friendly, but he wouldn't listen; said the road was dangerous, and that he'd spoken about it too often. He said he hadn't anything against you."
"Didn't come in to complain," said Jethro, "didn't come in to complain. Road is out of repair. W-what's the next move?"
"I'm sorry, Jethro--I swan I'm sorry." He cleared his throat. "Well," he continued in his judicial manner, "the court has got to appoint an agent to repair that road, the agent will present the bill, and the town will have to pay the bill--whatever it is. It's too bad, Jethro, that you have allowed this to be done."
"You say you've got to app'int an agent?"
"Yes--I'm sorry--"
"Have you app'inted one?"
"No."
"G-got any candidates?"
The judge scratched his head.
"Well, I don't know as I have."
"Well, have you?"
"No," said the judge.
"A-any legal objection to my bein' app'inted?" asked Jethro.
The judge looked at him and gasped. But the look was an involuntary tribute of admiration.
"Well," he said hesitatingly, "I don't know as there is, Jethro. No, there's no legal objection to it."
"A-any other kind of objection?" said Jethro.
The judge appeared to reflect.
"Well, no," he said at last, "I don't know as there is."
"Well, is there?" said Jethro, again.
"No," said the judge, with the finality of a decision. A smile seemed to be pulling at the corners of his mouth.
"Well, I'm a candidate," said Jethro.
"Do you tell me, Jethro, that you want me to appoint you agent to fix that road?"
"I-I'm a candidate."
"Well," said the judge, rising, "I'll do it."
"When?" said Jethro, sitting still.
"I'll send the papers over to you within two or three days.
"O-ought to be done right away, Judge. Road's in bad shape."
"Well, I'll send the papers over to you to-morrow."
"How long--would it take to make out that app'intment--how long?"
"It wouldn't take but a little while."
"I'll wait," said Jethro.
"Do you want to take the appointment along with you to-night?" asked the judge, in