XXII
JUDGE HOLLIS was writing in his office. He had been writing five hours and the green shade of his lamp was awry, while his briar-wood had just gone out for the ninety-ninth time. Some one knocked twice on the outer door before he noticed it. Then he shouted: “Come in!�
After some fumbling with the lock the door opened, and Zeb Bartlett’s shambling figure lurched into the room. He came in boldly, but cowered as he met the judge’s fierce expression. The old man swung around in his chair and faced him, his great overhanging brows drawn together over glowing eyes, and his lip thrust out.
The boy was stricken speechless, and stood hat in hand, feebly rubbing the back of his head. The judge, who hated interruption and loathed incompetence, scowled. “What d’ye want here?� he demanded.
Zeb wet his parched lips with his tongue. “I want the law on him,� he mumbled; “I want the law on him!�
“What in thunder are you mumbling about?� demanded the old man impatiently; “some one stole your wits?�
“It was him did my sister wrong,� Zeb said, histongue loosed between fear and hate; “it’s him, and I want him punished—now they’ve got him!�
Judge Hollis threw the pen that he had been holding suspended into the ink-well. “See here, Zeb,� he said, “if you can tell us who ruined your poor crazed sister, why, by the Lord Harry, I’d like to punish him!�
Zeb looked cunning; he edged nearer to the desk. “I can tell you,� he said, “I can tell you right cl’ar off, but—I want him punished!�
“May be the worst we can do is to make him take care of the child,� said Judge Hollis.
“That won’t do,� said Zeb, “that ain’t enough; he left her to starve, and me to starve—she tole me who it was!�
Judge Hollis was not without curiosity, but he restrained it manfully. He even took his paper-cutter and folded the paper before him in little plaits. “Zeb,� he said, “it’s a rotten business, but the girl’s dead and Caleb Trench has taken the child and—�
“It’s him, curse him, it’s him!� Zeb cried, shaking his fist.
Judge Hollis dropped the paper-cutter and rose from his chair, his great figure, in the long dark blue coat, towering.
“How dare you say that?� he demanded, “you cur—you skunk!�
But Zeb was ugly; he set his teeth, and his crazy eyes flashed. “I tell you it’s him,� he cried; “ain’t I said she tole me?�
“Damn you, I don’t believe you,� the judge shouted; “it’s money you want, money!� He grabbed the shaking boy by the nape of the neck, as a dog takes a rat, and shook him. “You clear out,� he raged, “and you keep your damned lying, dirty tongue still!� and flung him out and locked the door.
Then, panting slightly, he went back to his seat, swung it to his desk again, rolled back his cuffs and wiped the perspiration from his forehead. Then he pulled his pen out of the ink-well and shook the surplus ink over the floor and began to write; he wrote two pages and dropped his pen. His head sank, his big shoulders bowed over, he was lost in thought. He thought there for an hour, while nothing stirred except the mouse that was gnawing his old law-books and had persistently evaded Miss Sarah’s vigilance. Then the judge brought his great fist down on his desk, and the ink-well danced, and the pen rolled off.
“My God!� he exclaimed to himself, “I’ve loved him like a son, the girl was treated like hell—it can’t be true!�
He rose, jammed his hat down on his head and walked out; he walked the streets for hours.
It was very late when he was admitted to the old jail. It was past time to admit visitors, but the judge was a privileged person. The warden gave up his private room to him and sent for the prisoner. The lamp burnt low on the desk, and the old judgesat before it, heavy with thought. He looked up mechanically when Caleb came in with his quick firm step and faced him. The two greeted each other without words, and Caleb sat down, waiting. He knew his visitor had something on his mind.
Judge Hollis looked at him, studying him, studying the clear-cut lines, the hollowed cheeks, the clear gray eyes, the chiseled lips,—not a handsome face, but one of power. The sordid wretchedness of the story, like a foul weed springing up to choke a useful plant, struck him again with force and disgust.
“I’ve just seen Zeb Bartlett,� he said; “he’s raving to punish the man who wronged his sister. He says you did it!� The old man glared fiercely at the young one.
Caleb’s expression was slightly weary, distinctly disappointed: he had hoped for something of importance. The story of Jean Bartlett was utterly unimportant in his life. “I know it,� he said briefly; “it is easy to accuse, more difficult to prove the truth.�
The judge leaned forward, his clasped hands hanging between his knees, his head lowered. “Caleb,� he said, “maybe it’s not right to ask you, but, between man and man, I’d like to know God’s truth.�
Caleb Trench returned the old man’s look calmly. “Judge,� he said, “have you ever known me to steal?�
The judge shook his head.
“Or to lie?�
Again the judge dissented.
“Then why do you accuse me in your heart of wronging a half-witted girl?� he asked coldly.
The judge rose from his chair and walked twice across the room; then he stopped in front of the younger man. “Caleb,� he said, “by the Lord Harry, I’m plumb ashamed to ask you to forgive me.�
Caleb smiled a little sadly. “Judge,� he said, “there’s nothing to forgive. Without your friendship I should have been a lost man. I understand. Slander has a hundred tongues.�
“Zeb Bartlett is shouting the accusation to the four winds of heaven, I presume,� said the judge, “and there’s the child—you—�
“I’ve taken him,� said Caleb, “and I mean to keep him. I’ve known poverty, I’ve known homelessness, I’ve known slander; the kid has got to face it all, and he won’t do it without one friend.�
The judge looked at him a long time, then he went over and clapped his hand down on his shoulder. “By the Lord Harry!� he said, “you’re a man, and I respect you. Let them talk—to the devil!�
“Amen!� said Caleb Trench.