"We don't want to get there too early," explained the judge, as
they quitted the cabin. "We want to miss the work, but be on
hand for the celebration."
"I suppose we may confidently look to you to favor us with a few
eloquent words?" said Mr. Mahaffy.
"And why not, Solomon?" asked the judge.
"Why not, indeed!" echoed Mr. Mahaffy.
The opportunity he craved was not denied him. The crowd was like
most southwestern crowds of the period, and no sooner did the
judge appear than there were clamorous demands for a speech. He
cast a glance of triumph at Mahaffy, and nimbly mounted a
convenient stump. He extolled the climate of middle Tennessee,
the unsurpassed fertility of the soil; he touched on the future
that awaited Pleasantville; he apostrophized the jail; this
simple structure of logs in the shadow of the primeval woods was
significant of their love of justice and order; it was a suitable
place for the detention of a citizen of a great republic; it was
no mediaeval dungeon, but a forest-embowered retreat where,
barring mosquitoes and malaria, the party under restraint would
be put to no needless hardship; he would have the occasional
companionship of the gentlemanly sheriff; his friends, with such
wise and proper restrictions as the law saw fit to impose, could
come and impart the news of the day to him through the chinks of
the logs.
"I understand you have dealt in a hasty fashion with one or two
horse-thieves," he continued.
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