The boy’s natty uniform, his new cap and his sergeant’s stripes seemed to overpower the town official.
“Fur poundin’ up Jedge Lomax?” he stammered at last.
“You can call it that,” laughed Morey, “although I didn’t.”
“Fur land’s sakes, Morey, where ha’ ye abeen? That’s all settled long ago. I reckon your mother must a’ got Major Carey to see Jedge Lomax. Anyhow the warrant is withdrew.”
That was what had happened. As soon as Mrs. Marshall had heard of the difficulty she had hurried to her friends, Captain Barber and Major Carey. Through them the disgruntled Lomax—who never had been near to dying—had been unable to resist feminine appeals, particularly when Major Carey added his request to that of Morey’s mother.
“Well,” said Morey with decision, “I think that is a good thing—for Judge Lomax. I was just about to swear out a warrant for his arrest. I’ll wait now until I hear more from him.”
The investment company’s representative was a young lawyer. Morey’s mother had no telephone in her house. So within a few minutes the town livery man had two horses hitched to an ancient hack and by noon Morey and the agent were at Aspley Place.
For half an hour Morey was alone with his mother in her bedroom. In the end she was reconciled. Morey did not attempt to make her realize all that he had come to know.
“I’ll never believe it of Major Carey,” she kept repeating.
“That’s all right, mater,” Morey answered at last. “Think as you like. But I’m a man now. All you have to do is to sign the contract. I’ll see that you keep Aspley Place. And, if I have good luck, I’ll see that we make our own butter again.”