“Hibbard,” observed the judge, more in sorrow than in anger, “you’re a bad one! You’ve gone down grade pretty fast since you went to work for me and had dealings with Rockwell.”
“Any one will hit the toboggan that gets mixed up with Rockwell,” declared Hibbard. “Anything else you want to know, judge?”
“No, Hibbard; you can go. For the sake of your people, I hope you will live a different life from now on.”
He pointed to the door, and Dirk Hibbard, with head bowed, passed through it and out of the house.
CHAPTER XIII.
THE JUDGE TAKES A HAND.
Clancy did not return to the Red Star Garage that night. He went to a hotel with Jimmie Fortune, and the two of them slept late the next morning, had breakfast at a restaurant at nine o’clock, and, when ten strokes boomed from the courthouse clock, made their way to the garage.
The judge and Rockwell were alone in the office when the two youths entered the place.
“Get out of here, both of you!” shouted Rockwell. “I know that young scalawag, Fortune, and I don’t want him around, on general principles. As for you, Clancy, I have no use for a fellow who can’t be trusted. You didn’t stay in the back room last night, and you didn’t show up here in time for work this morning. That’s what lets you out.”
“Just a minute,” interposed the judge, taking a long wallet from his pocket. “Before Clancy leaves this place, Rockwell, you’d better settle your account with him.” He took the note from the wallet and laid it down on the desk in front of the garage owner. “Give him a check for a thousand dollars,” finished the judge, “and no words about it.”