“We fear we shall have to make an example of him,” said Mr. Briggles. “The ungodly throw obstructions in our path, and we must combat them when we can. This Lane has evaded a court order. We trust he will receive a term in prison. We have faith that Judge Bennings will uphold the right.”
“Huh! So that old rascal of a Bennings is the man that let you bother Peter Lane, is he? Seems to me he's getting pretty free with his court orders and nonsense! But I guess he ain't heard from me yet!”
She turned her back on Mr. Briggles and almost ran down the incline into the street. Unluckily for Judge Bennings, he was almost too convenient to Rapp's Livery, Feed and Sale Stable, living in an old brick mansion that occupied the corner of the block but, luckily for him, he was not at home. Mrs. Potter poured out her wrath on the German servant girl.
When Mrs. Potter had hastened away, Mr. Briggles hesitated. He could see the deputy sheriff and George Rapp through the smoky glass of the office door, and Joe was talking steadily, only stopping now and then to expectorate, while Rapp's good-natured face was scowling. Mr. Briggles buttoned his ulster. From the look on George Rapp's face he felt it would be better to be out of the stable when Rapp came out of the office. He turned. Peter Lane was staggering wearily up the incline into the stable, his back bent with fatigue, and Buddy, sound asleep, in his arms. Mr. Briggles watched the uncouth, blanket-draped pair advance, and when Peter stood face to face with him, a smile of satisfaction twisted his hard mouth. Peter looked into the fellow's shrewd eyes and drew a long breath.
“Your name's Briggles, ain't it?” he asked listlessly. “Mine's Peter Lane. This here's Buddy. I guess we got to the end of our string.”
Peter shifted the sleeping boy to his shoulder and touched the child's freckled face softly.
“I wisht you would do what's possible to put him into a nice home,” said Peter; “a home where he won't be treated harsh. I've got so used to Buddy I feel almost like he was my own son, and I wouldn't like him to be treated harsh. He's such a nice little feller—”
He stopped, for he could say no more just then. He lowered his arms until Buddy's head slid softly from his shoulder to the crook of his arm.
“Well,” he said, holding out the sleeping boy, “I guess you might as well take him now as any time.”
Mr. Briggles reached forward to take the boy just as Mrs. Potter came rushing up the stable incline, waving her hand wildly.