“Aha!” he said understandingly. “Whut did I tell you, Jimmy Bagby, about tryin' to parade in new shoes? But no, you wouldn't listen—you would be one of these here young dudes!”
“Judge,” pleaded the sergeant, “don't rub it in! I'm about ruint—I'm ruint for life with these here feet of mine.”
Still at a somewhat stiff and straddle-legged gait, the judge mounted the porch, and after a quick appraisal of all the chairs in sight eased his frame into one that had a cushioned seat. A small involuntary moan escaped him. It was the sergeant's time to gloat.
“I'm wearin' my blisters on my feet,” he exulted, “and you're wearin' yourn—elsewhere. That's whut you git at your age fur tryin' to ride a strange horse in a strange town.”
“Jimmy,” protested the judge, “age ain't got nothin' a'tall to do with it; but that certainly was a mighty hard-rackin' animal they conferred on me. I feel like I've been straddlin' a hip roof durin' an earthquake. How did you make out to git back here?”
“That last half mile or so I shore did think I was trampin' along on red-hot ploughshears. If there'd been one more mile to walk I reckin I'd 'a' been listed amongst the wounded and missin'. I jest did about manage to hobble in. And Mizz Grundy fetched me this here piggin of cold water out on the porch, so's I could favour my feet and watch the boys passin' at the same time.”
Judge Priest undertook to cross one leg over the other, but uncrossed it again with a wince of sudden concern on his pink face.
“How do you aim, then, to git to the big doin's this evenin'?” he asked, and shifted his position slightly where he sat.
“I ain't aimin' to git there,” said Sergeant Bagby. “I aim to stay right here and take my ease. Besides, ef I don't git these feet of mine shrunk down some by milkin' time, I'm shore goin' to have to pull my pants off over my head this night.”
“Well, now, ain't that too bad!” commiserated his friend and commander. “I wouldn't miss hearin' Gen'l Gracey's speech fur a purty.”