When he was leaving, Colonel Price felt that he must make one more effort to induce Joe to discharge Hammer and put his case into the hands of a more competent man. Joe was firm in his determination to give Hammer a chance. He was a little sensitive on the matter under the rind, the colonel could see.
“If I was to hire the best lawyer I could find, Colonel Price, people would say then that I was guilty, sure enough,” said Joe. “They’d say I was depending more on the lawyer than myself to come clear. Well, colonel, you know that isn’t the case.”
That seemed to settle it, at least for the present. The 186 colonel summoned the sheriff, who took Joe to his cell. As the colonel and Mrs. Newbolt passed out, Attorney Hammer appeared, presenting his order for the money.
Mrs. Newbolt carried her savings with her. When she had paid Hammer she had sixty cents left in her calloused palm.
“That’s egg money,” said she, tying it in the corner of her handkerchief. “Oh, colonel, I forgot to ask the sheriff, but do you reckon they’ll give my Joe enough to eat?”
“I’ll see to that,” said Hammer officiously.
Hammer was a large, soft man in an alpaca-coat and white shirt without a collar. His hair was very black and exceedingly greasy, and brushed down upon his skull until it glittered, catching every ray of light in his vicinity like a bucket of oil. He walked in long strides, with a sliding motion of the feet, and carried his hands with the palms turned outward, as if ready instantly to close upon any case, fee, or emolument which came in passing contact with him, even though it might be on its way to somebody else.
Mrs. Newbolt was not unfavorably impressed with him, for he seemed very officious and altogether domineering in the presence of the sheriff, but her opinion may have been influenced perhaps by Joe’s determination to have him whether or no. She thanked him for his promise of good offices in Joe’s behalf, and he took her arm and impeded her greatly in her progress down the steps.
After Mrs. Newbolt had taken some refreshment in the colonel’s house, she prepared to return home.
“If I had a hoss, madam,” said the colonel, “I’d hitch up and carry you home. But I don’t own a hoss, and I haven’t owned one for nine years, since the city grew up so around me I had to sell off my land to keep the taxes from eatin’ me up. If I did own a hoss now,” he laughed, “I’d have no place to keep him except under the bed, like they do the houn’-dogs back in Kentucky.” 187