Judge Haddan walked wearily up to his bench and sat down. It appeared later that he was seriously hurt, and he spent many weeks in bed. But now he was sustained by the excitement of the moment.
The district attorney dragged himself across the floor and sat down at his table near to where Dinner Gaze lay face downward, his hand still grasping the table-leg.
Ginny Babe Chew walked to the middle of the room, rested a fat hand on each fat hip, and looked up into the face of Judge Haddan.
“Yes, suh, boss,” she said. “Ginny Babe Chew is to blame fer dis here noble fracas!” Then she smiled.
“How did you know, Ginny?” Judge Haddan asked, twisting his pain-shot face into an answering smile, and feeling of an extremely sore place on top of his head.
“Dude Blackum tole me!” she answered.
“Dude Blackum is dead—drowned in attempting to escape!” Judge Haddan snapped.
“Naw, suh. He warn’t drowned. He’s a settin’ right dar by Dainty Blackum now!”
As she pointed a young, respectful, nicely dressed negro stood up, bowed to the judge, and smiled, flashing a gold front tooth.
“Naw, suh, jedge,” he murmured in a deprecatory tone. “I ain’t dead!”