“It’s Deck Sidney, thrashing around to make a big show of his authority, now that he is selectman,” the farmer grumbled. “He ain’t being backed up by the people, I can tell you that! It’s all right to be enterprising, but he is too cussed much so. He was around here the other day, trying to nose out whether I held a town note or not!” I felt a thrill of fear and the judge grew visibly paler. “Yes, he hung on and coaxed and threatened and argued. But I knew what he was up to!”
He winked at the shrinking judge.
“He said if I didn’t bring my town note into the meeting I’d never be able to collect.”
“How did he know you held a town note?” croaked the judge.
“He didn’t know! He was round town guessing. I never let on. I knew he wasn’t any financier. I knew that you’d protect me, no matter what Deck Sidney might say. I smelled him out, all right! He thinks he is running this town and he tried to bamboozle me so that he could find some more property to tax. I reckon we’ll show him where he belongs when it comes to next annual meeting. He’s getting altogether too big for his britches!” We learned much more about my uncle’s recent activities before we finished our ride. Evidently, when he had held his nose in the air he had sniffed town notes; but when he had set his nose to the ground and had tried to run those notes to their lairs he had failed. At any rate, the holders protested to the judge that they had not dropped one word—all of them suspecting that my uncle was merely digging out property to tax. The resentful farmers had replied to his anathema with some of their own and the frightened old maids had been too scared to say anything to him. We heard enough to know that he had traveled more or less by guesswork, and had made his quest general, hoping to corner somebody by chance. If we could believe the protestations of the parties concerned, Judge Kingsley’s defenses still presented a fair front to the world..
At last, before the evening was old, the judge had taken into his hands the last note.
Then we ordered our driver to hurry us to the village.
“Mr. Sidney,” said the judge, when he had paid the driver and stood in the shadows at the edge of the square, “this is not the time to talk over our affairs, but I do want you to step into my office for a few moments.”
He led the way.
The big house was dark and a queer kind of a shiver ran through me when I looked at it.