“And folks say that—that he’s gambling.”
“Gamblin’.” He repeated it under his breath.
“After all you’ve done for him, he ought to think of what’ll please you—not what’ll hurt.”
He propped his head between his hands and stared at the desk. But presently he looked up at her again, confident and smiling. “Alicia,” he said, “if there was a law in Manzanita agin gossip, half the town would bust it so often they’d have to move, bag an’ baggage, an’ live in yonder.” He gave a sidewise nod of the head. The rear door of the courtroom was standing partly ajar. Through it could be seen several small barred openings—the windows of the neighbouring jail.
“Now you know, an’ I know, that Homer Scott don’t gamble,” he said.
“Of course, there always is a lot of talk going around,” she admitted. “But this worried me, Gid, because——” She hesitated.
“Because w’y?”
She faced him once more. “I wouldn’t say this to anybody else. But—Mr. Carpenter left some money with Homer to pay for peaches. He left eight hundred dollars. I’ve been afraid—you know what I mean, Gid. And—and it would be so hard for Homer to pay Carpenter back.”
The Judge stood up impatiently. “If a man takes a glass of lemonade at the Occidental, all the old hens in town think he’s a-goin’ to have the d. t’s. If he plays a game of casino he’s gone to the bad.”
The colour left Alicia’s face. “I—I suppose you’ll think I’m a gossip,” she said, and turned away.