When we were in the warden's room, that master of the keys took up a position by the door. This was not to Big Kennedy's taste.
“Dave, s'ppose you step outside,” said Big Kennedy.
“It's no use you hearin' what we say; it might get you into trouble, d'ye see!” The last, insinuatingly.
“Mr. Kennedy, I'm afraid!” replied the warden, with the voice of one worried. “You know the charge is murder. He's here for killin' Jimmy the Blacksmith. I've no right to let him out of my sight.”
“To be sure, I know it's murder,” responded Big Kennedy. “I'd be plankin' down bail for him if it was anything else. But what's that got to do with you skip-pin' into th' hall? You don't think I'm goin' to pass him any files or saws, do you?”
“Really, Mr. Warden,” said young Morton, crossing over to where the warden lingered irresolutely, “really, you don't expect to stay and overhear our conversation! Why, it would be not only impolite, but perposterous! Besides, it's not my way, don't y' know!” And here young Morton put on his double eyeglass and ran the warden up and down with an intolerant stare.
“But he's charged, I tell you,” objected the warden, “with killin' Jimmy th' Blacksmith. I can't go to givin' him privileges an' takin' chances; I'd get done up if I did.”
“You'll get done up if you don't!” growled Big Kennedy.
“It is as you say,” went on young Morton, still holding the warden in the thrall of that wonderful eyeglass, “it is quite true that this person, James the Horseshoer as you call him, has been slain and will never shoe a horse again. But our friend had no hand in it, as we stand ready to spend one hundred thousand dollars to establish. And by the way, speaking of money,”—here young Morton turned to Big Kennedy—“didn't you say as we came along that it would be proper to remunerate this officer for our encroachments upon his time?”
“Why, yes,” replied Big Kennedy, with an ugly glare at the warden, “I said that it might be a good idea to sweeten him.”