“I got ten dollars.”

“Ten dollars—­” the judge smacked his lips once.  “Ten dollars” he repeated, and smacked his lips twice.  There was a brief silence, in which he seemed to give way to pleasant reveries.

From beyond the open door of the shanty came a multitude of night sounds.  The moon had risen, and what had been a dusty country road was now a streak of silver in the hot light.  The purple flush on the judge’s face, where the dignity that belonged to age had gone down in wreck, deepened.  The sparse, white frost above his ears was damp with sweat.  He removed his stock, opened his shirt at the neck, and cast aside his coat; then he lighted a blackened pipe, filled his glass, and sank back in his chair.  The long hours of darkness were all before him, and his senses clothed themselves in rich content.  Once more his glance rested on the boy.  Here, indeed, was a guest of whom one might make much and not err—­he felt all the benevolence of his nature flow toward him.  Ten dollars!

“Certainly the tavern would have been no place for you!  Well, thank God, it wasn’t necessary for you to go there.  You are more than welcome here.  I tell you, when you know this place as I know it, you’ll regard every living soul here with suspicion.  Keep ’em at arm’s length!” he sank his voice to an impressive whisper.  “In particular, I warn you against a certain Solomon Mahaffy.  You’ll see much of him; I haven’t known how to rebuff the fellow without being rude—­he sticks to me like my shadow.  He’s profited by my charity and he admires my conversation and affects my society, but don’t tell him you have so much as a rusty copper, for he will neither rest nor eat nor sleep until he’s plucked you—­tell him nothing—­leave him to me.  I keep him —­there—­” the judge extended his fat hands, “at arm’s length.  I say to him metaphorically speaking—­’so close, but no closer.  I’ll visit you when sick, I’ll pray with you when dying, I’ll chat with you, I’ll eat with you, I’ll smoke with you, and if need be, I’ll drink with you—­but be your intimate?  Never!  Why?  Because be’s a damned Yankee!  These are the inextinguishable feelings of a gentleman.  I am aware they are out of place in this age, but what’s bred in the bone will show in the flesh.  Who says it won’t, is no gentleman himself and a liar as well!  My place in the world was determined two or three hundred years ago, and my ancestors spat on such cattle as Mahaffy and they were flattered by the attention!” The judge, powerfully excited by his denunciation of the unfortunate Mahaffy, quitted his chair and, lurching somewhat as he did so, began to pace the floor.