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."
"No, I ain't running away. I ain't got no one to run away from,"
said the boy chokingly. He was showing signs of fatigue. His
head drooped and he met the judge's glance with tired, sleepy
eyes. The latter looked at him and then said suddenly:
"I think you'd better go to bed."
"I reckon I had," agreed Hannibal, slipping from his chair.
"Well, take my bed back of the quilt. You'll find a hoe there.
You can dig up the dirt under the shuck tick with it--which helps
astonishingly. What would the world say if it could know that
judge Slocum Price makes his bed with a hoe! There's Spartan
hardihood!" but the boy, not knowing what was meant by Spartan
hardihood, remained silent.
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