They did not have long to wait, for old Judge Bruce came slowly up the shaded street, his coat over his arm. Henrietta was upon him before he had fairly entered his yard, her arm through his, coaxing him to be a dear, sweet man and be easy with Lem.
“Well, I had a mind that way myself,” said the justice teasingly, “until this here female lobby come a huggin' and kissin' me and tryin' to corrupt the bench. Now I guess I 'll have to give the young reprobates a hundred years in jail, all three of 'em, and old Harvey about two hundred on bread and water at hard labor. I guess so.”
“Now, Father Bruce!” exclaimed Gay. “You could n't be so mean?”
The old man looked up at her slyly and pulled at his white beard.
“I bet you been doin' some more crooked business, engagin' the judiciary's son to corrupt the judge in hopes it will sway justice from the straight path, ain't you?” he cackled. “Dead wrong, I call it. Improper to beat the band. Reg'lar confession of guilt.”
He dropped into a porch chair and wiped his face.
“Never knew it so hot this time of the year. Big storm brewing, I shouldn't wonder,” he said seriously. “About your Lem, now. There ain't goin' to be no trial. Nor for that big, fat fool father of his, neither. Charges has been withdrawn and case wiped from the docket. They've got strong friends.”
“That's not just regular, is it, father?” Carter asked, laughing.
“What in tunket do I care if it is regular or not?” said Bruce. “I run my justice court to suit Judge Bruce. Told 'em I would when they come pesterin' me to take another term. I run on the platform, 'Old Judge Bruce will lay down the law the way he dumb pleases,' and that's how I was elected.”
He filled his pipe and lighted it.