“Young Fisbee is here,” said the judge.
“Where, please, Briscoe?”
“Want to see him right off?”
“I do, very much.”
“You'll withdraw his discharge, I expect, now?”
“Ah!” exclaimed the other. “I want to make him a present of the 'Herald,' if he'll take it.” He fumed to Meredith, who had come to the gate. “Tom, where is he?”
Meredith put his hand on his friend's shoulder, and answered: “I don't know. God bless you, old fellow!”
“The truth is,” said the judge, as they entered the gate, “that when you drove up, young Fisbee ran into the house. Minnie—” He turned, but his daughter had disappeared; however, she came to the door, a moment later, and shook her head mysteriously at her father.
“Not in the house,” she said.
Mr. Fisbee came around the corner of the porch and went toward Harkless. “Fisbee,” cried the latter, “where is your nephew?”