"Oh, has she? How I wish I could see it! What color is it?"
"Spotted."
There followed a long silence, during which we went farther and farther off the road.
"Jake," said the judge, "whose house is that we just passed?"
"It's that new Irishman's," said I. "Mike Cosgrove, ain't that his name?"
"Well, then," said the judge, "we're off the road. Stop!"
"Yes," I said, "I made the wrong turn back there. It's only a little farther."
The judge was plainly put out about this. He even wanted to go back to the regular road again, and when I explained that we would soon reach a trail which would lead right into the Centre, he still persisted.
"If we were to be robbed on this out-of-the-way road," said he, "it would look funny."
"It would look funnier," I said, "if we were to go back and then get robbed. Any one waiting to rob us would be on the regular road, wouldn't they?"