The Squire was rather an elderly man, with white hair, a white beard, somewhat stained by tobacco juice, and he had a glass eye. Perhaps that is why he did not oftener read his law books. He was quite dignified, or, at least, he used to think he was, which amounts to almost the same thing.
It was before this man that poor Dan was to be given a preliminary hearing, on the charge of being a burglar. As the Squire had no authority to sit as a magistrate he could not finally dispose of the case. The two constables hurried to the office and found him sitting at his desk.
“Good mornin’, Squire,” greeted Mr. Walker.
“Ah, good morning, my good man,” replied the Squire in rather chilling tones.
“How-d’ do, Judge Perkfell,” greeted Constable Wolff, who saw the somewhat cold welcome his companion received.
“Ah, officer, good morning. It’s a fine day,” returned Judge Perkfell, pleased at having his title conferred on him thus early. “What can I do for you? Do you wish a warrant, or a subpoena?”
“Neither, thanks,” replied Mr. Wolff, rubbing his hands at this indication of being on good terms with the Squire. Mr. Walker felt a little hurt, and resolved, after this, to always address the justice as “Judge.”
“Perhaps then, you want me to draw up a deed, or a mortgage or some legal paper.”
“No, Judge, but we would like you to hold court.”
“Hold court? Why, you don’t mean to tell me there is a prisoner in Hayden? I did not hear of it.”