“Then he said I must pay; that if I didn’t, he’d give me away for what I did the night before.”
“And what was that?”
Again the boy hung his head and went dumb. “I don’t know. I can’t remember.”
“Which is another way of saying that you were too drunk to know what you were about. God help us!” said the judge, and he got up to walk to the window. When he could trust himself to speak he began again:
“About these papers that Harding wanted you to get from Brant: what were they?”
“I don’t know—some affidavits or something that Brant was holding over him.”
“How were you to get them?”
“Any way I could. I was—to—steal them—I suppose.”
“And you—you deliberately put your honour, my honour, the good name you have made a hissing and a reproach, on the table as a stake in a game of cards!”
“I—I thought it was only a joke—before God, I did! And when I found out it wasn’t, I kicked, and we quarrelled.”