“Take me for your example, boy!  You may be poor, you may possibly be hungry you’ll often be thirsty, but through it all you will remain that splendid thing—­a gentleman!  Lands, niggers, riches, luxury, I’ve had ’em all; I’ve sucked the good of ’em; they’ve colored my blood, they’ve gone into the fiber of my brain and body.  Perhaps you’ll contend that the old order is overthrown, that family has gone to the devil?  You are right, and there’s the pity of it!  Where are the great names?  A race of upstarts has taken their place—­sons of nobody—­nephews of nobody—­cousins of nobody—­I observe only deterioration in the trend of modern life.  The social fabric is tottering—­I can see it totter—­” and he tottered himself as he said this.

The boy had watched him out of wide eyes, as ponderous and unwieldy he shuffled back and forth in the dim candlelight; now shaking his head and muttering, the judge dropped into his chair.

“Well, I’m an old man-the spectacle won’t long offend me.  I’ll die presently.  The Bench and Bar will review my services to the country, the militia will fire a few volleys at my graveside, here and there a flag will be at half-mast, and that will be the end—­” He was so profoundly moved by the thought that he could not go on.  His voice broke, and he buried his face in his arms.  A sympathetic moisture had gathered in the child’s eyes.  He understood only a small part of what his host was saying, but realized that it had to do with death, and he had his own terrible acquaintance with death.  He slipped from his chair and stole to the judge’s side, and that gentleman felt a cool hand rest lightly on his arm.

“What?” he said, glancing up.

“I’m mighty sorry you’re going to die,” said the boy softly.

“Bless you, Hannibal!” cried the judge, looking wonderfully cheerful, despite his recent bitterness of spirit.  “I’m not experiencing any of the pangs of mortality now.  My dissolution ain’t a matter of to-night or to-morrow—­there’s some life in Slocum Price yet, for all the rough usage, eh?  I’ve had my fun—­I could tell you a thing or two about that, if you had hair on your chin!” and the selfish lines of his face twisted themselves into an exceedingly knowing grin.

“You talked like you thought you were going to die right off,” said Hannibal gravely, as he resumed his chair.  The judge was touched.  It had been more years than he cared to remember since he had launched a decent emotion in the breast of any human being.  For a moment he was silent, struck with a sense of shame; then he said: 

“You are sure you are not running away, Hannibal?  I hope you know that boys should always tell the truth—­that hell has its own especial terrors for the boy who lies?  Now, if I thought the worst of you, I might esteem it my duty to investigate your story.”  The judge laid a fat forefinger against the side of his nose, and regarded him with drunken gravity.  Hannibal shook with terror.  This was what he had feared.  “That’s one aspect of the case.  Now, on the other hand, I might draw up a legal instrument which could not fail to be of use to you on your travois, and would stop all questions.  As for my fee, it would be trifling, when compared with the benefits I can see accruing to you.”