John’s eyes shot a look of red hate toward the house and his strong jaws snapped.
“He has done it already, child!” he growled; paused, and changed his tone to a quizzical drawl. “The fact is, Miss Susie, I’ve merely imbibed a little eloquence on purpose to-night to tell this distinguished ornament of the United States Judiciary, without reservation and with due emphasis, just how many kinds of a scoundrel he really is.”
“Don’t do it.”
“It’s my patriotic duty.”
“But you’ll fight.”
“Far from it, Miss Susie. I may thrash the Judge incidentally during our talk, but there will be no fight.”
“Please don’t go in, Mr. John!” she pleaded softly.
“I must, child,” he answered, smilingly but firmly. “Old Butler to-day used his arbitrary power to disbar me from the practice of law. If that order stands, I’m a pauper. I already owe your mother for two months’ board.”
“We don’t want the money,” eagerly broke in the girl.
“Two months’ board,” he went on, ignoring her interruption, “for my dear old crazy Dad, helpless as a babe with his faithful servant Alfred who must wait on him—two months’ board for my bouncing brother Billy, an eighteen-year-old cub who never missed a meal—two months’ board for my war-tried appetite that was never known to fail. No, Miss Susie, we can’t impose on the good nature of the widow Wilson and her beautiful daughter who does the work of a slave without wages and without a murmur.”