"I deplore your choice of words, Solomon," said the judge. "You
know damn well that if you'd been here I couldn't have got past
your place with that jug! But let's deal with conditions.
Here's the jug, with some liquor left in it--here's a glass. Now
what more do you want?"
"Have I ever been caught like this?" demanded Mahaffy.
"No, you've invariably manifested the honorable disabilities of a
gentleman. But don't set it all down to virtue. Maybe you
haven't had the opportunity, maybe the temptation never came and
found you weak and thirsty. Put away your sinful pride, Solomon
--a sot like you has no business with the little niceties of
selfrespect."
"Do I drink alone?" insisted Mahaffy doggedly.
"I never give you the chance," retorted his friend. Mr. Mahaffy
drew near the table. "Sit down," urged the judge.
"I hope you feel mean?" said Mahaffy.
"If it's any satisfaction to you, I do," admitted the judge.
"You ought to." Mahaffy drew forward a chair. The judge filled
his glass. But Mr. Mahaffy's lean face, with its long jaws and
high cheek-bones, over which the sallow skin was tightly drawn,
did not relax in its forbidding expression, even when he had
tossed off his first glass.
"I love to see you in a perfectly natural attitude like that,
Solomon, with your arm crooked. What's the news from the
landing?"
Mahaffy brought his fist down on the table.
"I heard the boat churning away round back of the bend, then I
saw the lights, and she tied up and they tossed off the freight.
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