The judge rested an elbow on the chimneypiece and regarded Montgomery curiously.  He knew the man was drunk; he knew that sober he would probably have said much less than he was now saying, but he also knew that there was some powerful feeling back of his words.

“If you are involved in any questionable manner with Mr. Gilmore, I should advise you to think twice before you go further with it.  Mr. Gilmore is shrewd, he has money; you are a poor man and you are an ignorant man.  Your reputation is none of the best.”

“Thank you, boss!” said Montgomery gratefully.

“Mr. Gilmore probably expects to use you for his own ends regardless of the consequences to you,” finished the judge.

“Supposin’—­” began the handy-man huskily, “supposin’, boss, I was to go into court and swear to something that wasn’t so; what’s that?” and he bent a searching glance on the judge’s face.

“Perjury,” said the judge laconically.

“What’s it worth to a man?  I reckon it’s like drinkin’ and stealin’, it’s got so many days and costs chalked up agin it?”

“I think,” said the judge quietly, “that you would better tell me what you mean.  Ordinarily I should not care to mix in your concerns, but on Nellie’s account—­”

“God take a likin’ to you, boss!” cried Montgomery.  “I know I ought to have kept out of this.  I told Andy Gilmore how it would be, that I hadn’t the brains for it; but he was to stand back of me.  And so he will—­to give me a kick and a shove when he’s done with me!”

He saw himself caught in that treacherous fabric Gilmore had erected for John North, whose powerful friends would get him clear.  Andy and Marsh would go unscathed, too.  Only Joe Montgomery would suffer—­Joe Montgomery, penniless and friendless, a cur in the gutter for any decent man to kick!  He passed the back of his hand across his face.

“It’s a hell of a world and be damned to it!” he muttered hoarsely under his breath.

“You must make it clearer to me than this!” said the judge impatiently.

Montgomery seemed to undergo a brief but intense mental struggle, then he blurted out: 

“Boss, I lied when I said it was North I seen come over old man McBride’s shed that night!”

“Do you mean to tell me that you perjured yourself in the North case?” asked the judge sternly.

“Sure, I lied!” said the handy-man.  “But Andy Gilmore was back of that lie; it was him told me what I was to say, and it’s him that kept houndin’ me, puttin’ me up to say more than I ever agreed to!” He slouched nearer the judge.  “Boss, I chuck up the whole business; do you understand?  I want to take back all I said; I’m willin’ to tell the God A’mighty’s truth!”

He paused abruptly.  In his excitement he had forgotten what the truth meant, what it would mean to the man before him.  He was vaguely aware that in abler hands than his own, this knowledge which he possessed would have been molded into a terrible weapon, but he was impotent to use it; with every advantage his, he felt only the desperate pass in which he had placed himself.  If Gilmore and Marshall Langham could juggle with John North’s life, what of his own life when the judge should have become their ally!