The judge paused, with his eyes on the fire; then he said: "I think I'll wait up for the boy to-night, Sue. I want to tell him the good news myself. You haven't spoken of it?"
"No, indeed. I haven't seen him since breakfast. Melvy says he spends his spare time on the river. That's what's giving him the malaria, too, you mark my words."
It was after eleven when Sandy's step sounded on the porch. At the judge's call he opened the sitting-room door and stood
dazed by the sudden light. The judge noticed that he was pale and dejected, and he suppressed a smile over the imaginary troubles of youth.
"What's the matter? Are you sick?" he asked.
"No, sir."
"Come in to the fire; it's a bit chilly these nights."
Sandy dropped listlessly into a chair, with his back to the light.
"There are several things I want to talk over," continued the judge. "One is about Ricks Wilson. He has behaved very badly ever since that affair in August. Everybody who goes near the jail comes away with reports of his threats against me. He seems to think I am holding his trial over until January, when the fact is I have been trying to get him released on your account. It is of no use, though; he will have to wait his turn."
"I'm sorry, sir," said Sandy, without looking up.