“Ah, hah, jest about,” assented the judge. When the judge said “Ah, hah!” like that it sounded like the striking of a fiddle-bow across a fiddle's tautened E-string.
“Well, boys,” he went on, “we've all got to do the best we can for Breck Tandy, ain't we? Say, son”'—this was aimed at Durham—“I'd like mightily for you to put me on the stand the last one tomorrow. You wait until you're through with Herman and Colonel Quigley here, before you call me. And if I should seem to ramble somewhat in giving my testimony—why, son, you just let me ramble, will you? I know these people down here better maybe than you do—and if I should seem inclined to ramble, just let me go ahead and don't stop me, please?”
“Judge Priest,” said Durham tartly, “if you think it could possibly do any good, ramble all you like.”
“Much obliged,” said the old judge, and he struggled into his low-quarter shoes and stood up, dusting the tobacco fluff off himself.
“Herman have you got any loose change about you?”
Felsburg nodded and reached into his pocket. The judge made a discriminating selection of silver and bills from the handful that the merchant extended to him across the table.
“I'll take about ten dollars,” he said. “I didn't come down here with more than enough to jest about buy my railroad ticket and pay my bill at this here tavern, and I might want a sweetenin' dram or somethin'.”
He pouched his loan and crossed the room. “Boys,” he said, “I think I'll be knockin' round a little before I turn in. Herman, I may stop by your room a minute as I come back in. You boys better turn in early and git yourselves a good night's sleep. We are all liable to be purty tolerable busy tomorrow.”
After he was outside he put his head back in the door and said to Durham:
“Remember, son, I may ramble.”