“He’s honest enough,” muttered Black, with a glance towards Deborah, for the understanding of which the judge held no key.  Then, changing the subject, “You had a very unfortunate experience this afternoon.  Allow me to express my regret at an outbreak so totally unwarranted.”

A grumble came from the hall without.  Evidently his charge, if we may so designate the fellow he had brought there, had his own ideas on this subject.

“Quiet out there!” shouted Mr. Black.  “Mrs. Scoville, you need not trouble yourself to stand over Mr. Flannagan any longer.  I’ll look after him.”

She bowed and was turning away when the judge intervened.

“Is there any objection,” he asked, “to Mrs. Scoville’s remaining present at this interview?”

“None whatever,” answered the lawyer.

“Then, Mrs. Scoville, may I request you to come in?”

If she hesitated, it was but natural.  Exhaustion is the obvious result of so many excitements, and that she was utterly exhausted was very apparent.  Mr. Black cast her a commiserating smile, but the judge only noticed that she entered the room at his bidding and sat down by the window.  He was keying himself up to sustain a fresh excitement.  He was as exhausted as she, possibly more so.  He had a greater number of wearing years to his credit.

“Judge, I’m your friend;” thus Mr. Black began.  “Thinking you must wish to know who started the riotous procedure which disgraced our town to-day, I have brought the ringleader here to answer for himself—­that is, if you wish to question him.”

Judge Ostrander wheeled about, gave the man a searching look, and failing to recognise him as any one he had ever seen before, beckoned him in.

“I suppose,” said he, when the lounging and insolent figure was fairly before their eyes, “that this is not the first time you have been asked to explain your enmity to my long absent son.”

“Naw; I’ve had my talk wherever and whenever I took the notion.  Oliver Ostrander hit me once.  I was jest a little chap then and meanin’ no harm to any one.  I kept a-pesterin’ of ’im and he hit me.  He’d a better have hit a feller who hadn’t my memory.  I’ve never forgiven that hit, and I never will.  That’s why I’m hittin’ him now.  It’s just my turn; that’s all.”

“Your turn!  Your turn!  And what do you think has given you an opportunity to turn on him?”

“I’m not in the talkin’ mood just now,” the fellow drawled, frankly insolent, not only in his tone but in his bearing to all present.  “Nor can you make it worth my while, you gents.  I’ll not take money.  I’m an honest hard-workin’ man who can earn his own livin’, and you can’t pay me to keep still, or to go away from Shelby a day sooner than I want to.  I was goin’ away, but I gave it up when they told me that things were beginnin’ to look black against Ol Ostrander;—­that a woman had come into town who was a-stirrin’ up things generally about that old murder for which a feller had already been ‘lectrocuted, and knowin’ somethin’ myself about that murder and Ol Ostrander, I—­well, I stayed.”