“No, I reckon not, his notions are so high-flown,” the colonel admitted, with evident pride in the lofty bearing of the widow’s son.
“He’s longing for a run over the hills,” said she. “He told me he was.”
“A year of it in there would kill him,” the colonel said. “We must get him a lawyer who can disentangle him. I never saw anybody go down like that boy has gone down in the last month. It’s like taking a wild Indian out of the woods and putting him in a cage.”
The colonel put aside the corn picture for the day, and went out to confer with Judge Burns, a local lawyer who had gained a wide reputation in the defense of criminal cases. He was a doubly troubled man when he returned home that evening, for Joe had been firm in his refusal either to dismiss Hammer or admit another to his defense. In the library he had found Alice, downcast and gloomy, on the margin of tears.
“Why, honey, you mustn’t mope around this way,” he remonstrated gently. “What is it–what’s gone wrong with my little manager?” 233
She raised up from huddling her head against her arms on the table, pushed her fallen hair back from her eyes and gave him a wan smile.
“I just felt so lonely and depressed somehow,” said she, placing her hand on his where it lay on the table. “Never mind me, for I’ll be all right. What did he say?”
“Judge Burns?”
“Joe.”
The colonel drew a chair near and sat down, flinging out his hand with impatient gesture.