On his head was a ruinous hat much
too large for him, but which in some mysterious manner he
contrived to keep from quite engulfing his small features, which
were swollen and tear-stained. In his right hand he carried a
bundle, while his left clutched the brown barrel of a long rifle.
"You don't belong in these parts, do you?" asked the judge, when
he had completed his scrutiny.
"No, sir," answered the boy. He glanced off down the road, where
lights were visible among the trees. "What town is that?" he
added.
"Pleasantville--which is a lie--but I am neither sufficiently
drunk nor sufficiently sober to cope with the possibilities your
question offers. It is a task one should approach only after
extraordinary preparation," and the sometime major-general of
militia grinned benevolently.
"It's a town, ain't it?" asked Hannibal doubtfully. He scarcely
understood this large, smiling gentleman who was so civilly given
to speech with him, yet strangely enough he was not afraid of
him, and his whole soul craved human companionship.
"It's got a name--but you'll excuse me, I'd much prefer not to
tell you how I regard it--you're too young to hear. But stop a
bit--have you so much as fifty cents about you?" and the judge's
eyes narrowed to a slit above their folds of puffy flesh.
Hannibal, keeping his glance fixed on the man's face, fell back a
step. "I can't let you go if you are penniless--I can't do
that!" cried the judge, with sudden vehemence.
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