The Deacon's eyes met his boldly, and he answered the questions categorically.
"Well, Mr. Klegg, you shall have a pass at once, and I sincerely hope that you will find your son recovering. You probably do not remember me, but I have seen you before, when I was on the circuit in Indiana. My clerk there is writing out a pass for you. You will have to take the oath of allegiance, and sign the paper, which I suppose you have no objection to doing."
"None in the world," answered the Deacon, surprised at the unexpected turn of events. "I'll be only too glad. I was gittin' very scared about my pass."
"O, I have hard work here," said the Provost smiling, "in separating the sheep from the goats, but I'm now getting to know the goats tolerably well. There's you're pass, Deacon. A pleasant journey, and a happy termination to it."
The Deacon took out his long calf-skin wallet from his breast, put the precious pass in it, carefully strapped it up again and replaced it, and walked out of the office toward the depot.
He had gone but a few steps from the building when he saw the man who had been ordered out of the city by the Provost, and who seemed to be on the lookout for the Deacon. He came up, greeted the Deacon effusively and shook hands.
"You're from Posey County, Ind., I believe? I used to live there myself. Know Judge Drake?"
"Very well," answered the Deacon a little stiffly, for he was on his guard against cordial strangers.
"You do;" said the stranger warmly. "Splendid man. Great lawyer. Fine judge. I had a great deal to do with him at one time."
"Probably he had a great deal to do with you," thought the Deacon. "He was a terror to evil-doers."