For a full minute the jurist was mute, and when he did speak, meekness had entirely taken the place of bravado. “You’ll excuse my little jest, won’t you, Mr. Lawrence? It is a shabby trick to joke so seriously, I know; but it was only an idle joke, and doesn’t signify anything. I was some vexed to see the horse racing through the grain, but only for an instant. How thankful we ought to be that you escaped unhurt! To be sure, it was rather venturesome for me to rush forward and stop the furious horse,” he said, guilefully, “but that is nothing compared with your gallantry in keeping your seat so heroically. In fact, Mr. Lawrence, I may say, without flattery, that you are a real hero, and that this agile little pony of yours is the most spirited that I ever saw. Indeed, he’s worth his weight in gold! Why, he vaulted over this fence like—like—like a bird!”
In spite of himself, Will, nearly laughed at this labored simile. But he was a strange boy, and enjoyed the faculty of suppressing his laughter till he pleased to discharge it. Then he would laugh so uproariously that whoever chanced to overhear him took him for a merry lunatic.
But there were other considerations why Will did not laugh at the suppliant joker. In his turn he was astonished, astonished at the reckless indifference with which the man could lie. But he was not to be cajoled so easily; boy though he was, such oratory made no impression on him, and he continued unmoved, even when deferentially addressed as “Mr. Lawrence.”
Seeing that Will made no reply, the depraved wretch pursued in the following strain: “I should like you not to mention this joke of mine, for already I have the name of being an incorrigible practical joker. Besides,” subtilely, “you would not like the boys to taunt you about this runaway.”
“Oh, I think I saw several boys looking at me as I flew along,” Will, replied carelessly, “and before this they must know all about the runaway. Very likely the little boys that moved up towards the village have spread the news, and perhaps they have told the beginning of your joke,” artlessly. “At any rate, I must tell my father of this capital joke, Mr. Jackson, for he likes nothing better than a good joke.”
The farmer now began to suspect that Will was nearly as shrewd as he himself; and seeing how useless it was to palm off his threats as a little joke, he abruptly took a different course, and said, with marked and significant emphasis, “See here, Mr. Lawrence, I do not wish to frighten you; but promise not to mention this, and I will let the matter drop.”
Will believed that he, also, could use emphasis, and said, with what he meant to be great significance: “You have not frightened me, Mr. Jackson, because I knew you as soon as you came up to me. It isn’t worth while for me to promise anything, for there is my father climbing the fence up near the little boys, and they’re speaking to him. This way, pa,” the poor boy shouted, with exultant and heartfelt thankfulness.
Mr. Jackson looked hopelessly in the direction pointed out by Will, and muttered doggedly, “Baffled by a boy! He didn’t believe in that kind of a joke, eh! Yes, that’s where I overshot the mark.”
How it was that Mr. Lawrence so seasonably hove in sight will be explained further on. The writer, in common with all staunch romancers, bears a rooted and virulent hatred to villains, and wishes to dismiss this one as soon as possible, though he (this villain) is to appear again in the next chapter.
Mr. Jackson blanched when Will gave his name, but now he grew black, and seemed to be overwhelmed with consternation. He felt too cowardly even to run away.