The child began to cry softly.
"What ragamuffin's this, Betty?" growled Ware disgustedly.
But Betty did not seem to hear.
"Did you come alone, Hannibal?" she asked.
"No, ma'am; the judge and Mr. Mahaffy, they fetched me."
The judge had drawn nearer as Betty and Hannibal spoke together,
but Mahaffy hung back. There were gulfs not to be crossed by
him. It was different with the judge; the native magnificence of
his mind fitted him for any occasion. He pulled up his stock,
and coaxed a half-inch of limp linen down about his wrists, then
very splendidly he lifted his napless hat from his shiny bald
head and pressing it against his fat chest with much fervor,
elegantly inclined himself from the hips.
"Allow me the honor to present myself, ma'am--Price is my name
--Judge Slocum Price. May I be permitted to assume that this is
the Miss Betty of whom my young protege so often speaks?" The
judge beamed benevolently, and rested a ponderous hand on the
boy's head.
Tom Ware gave him a glance of undisguised astonishment, while
Norton regarded him with an expression of stunned and resolute
gravity. Mahaffy seemed to be undergoing a terrible moment of
uncertainty. He was divided between two purposes: one was to
seize Price by the coat tails and drag him back into the crowd;
the other was to kick him, and himself fly that spot. This
singular impulse sprang from the fact that he firmly believed his
friend's appearance was sufficient to blast the boy's chances in
every quarter; nor did he think any better of himself.
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