“I promise not to snort,” said Hoyt, gravely. “Now, go ahead.”
“Well, sir, I found a button and a hunk o’ dirt.” It was with some little difficulty that the lawyer kept his promise. Though he might have used a more graceful term, he certainly felt like “snorting.” However, he only said, gravely, “What sort of a button?”
“A suspender button,” said Fibsy. And immediately he observed to himself, “Gee! I wonder why I lied then! Guess I’m born that way.”
But for some reason, he did not correct his mis-statement, and say truly, that it was a shoe button.
“Yes,” said Hoyt; “and the mud? What was the interest of that?”
“Well, you see, sir, it had a mark in it.”
“What sort of a mark?”
“The print of a boot heel.” And again Fibsy communed with himself. “Done it again!” he observed, in silent soliloquy. “Well, when I lie, onexpected, like that, I’m always glad afterward!”
Surely, the boy was well named! He had gone to Mr. Hoyt, fully intending to tell him of his “clues” and he had falsified in both instances.
Judge Hoyt was as attentive and considerate in manner as if talking to an equal.