“That’s jest it––that’s jest as it was––right to a hair. It was system done it––system right from the very beginning. And many’s the time the Judge says to me––says he–––”
Old Jerry never finished, for Judge Maynard lifted one hand majestically and the little white-haired old man’s eager corroboration died on his lips. He shrank back into abashed silence, his lips working wordlessly.
“As I was saying,” the Judge then proceeded ponderously, “I recognized he had what one could call––er–––”
“Class?” the man on the desk broke in again with his engaging smile.
“Well, yes,” the other continued, “or, as I was about to call it, talent. From the very first that was 80 very apparent, but then, of course, a man in my position in the community could scarcely have been the one to encourage him openly. But he was pretty good, even as a little shaver! Why, there was nothing among the boys that he wouldn’t tackle––absolutely nothing! Size, sir, never made any difference to him––not a particle. Jeddy Conway fight–––!”
Again he turned to the close-packed circle behind him as if mere words were too weak things to do the question justice. And this time as he turned his eyes met squarely those of the gray-shirted figure that was staring straight back at him in a kind of fascination. For one disconcerted instant Judge Maynard wavered; he caught his breath before that level scrutiny; then with a flourish of utter finality he threw up one pudgy hand.
“There’s one of ’em right now,” he cried. “There’s Young Denny Bolton, who went to school with him, right here in this town. Ask him if Jed Conway was pretty handy as a boy! Ask him,” he leered around the room, an insinuating accent that was unmistakable underrunning the words. Then a deep-throated chuckle shook him. “But maybe he won’t tell––maybe he’s still a little mite too sensitive to talk about it yet. Eh, Denny––just a little mite too sensitive?”
Denny Bolton failed to realize it at that moment, but there was a new quality in the Judge’s chuckling statement––a certain hearty admission of equality 81 which he had only a second before denied to Old Jerry’s eager endeavor to help. The eyes of the fat man in brown lifted inquiringly from the notebook upon his knees and followed the direction of the Judge’s outstretched finger. He was still grinning expansively––and then as he saw more clearly through the thick smoke the face which Judge Maynard was indicating, the grin disappeared.
Little by little Young Denny’s body straightened until the slight shoulder stoop had entirely vanished, and all the while that his gaze never wavered from the Judge’s face his eyes narrowed and his lips grew thinner and thinner. The confused lack of understanding was gone, too, at last, from his eyes. He even smiled once, a fleeting, mirthless smile that tugged at the corners of his wide mouth. For the moment he had forgotten the circle of peering faces. The room was very still.
It was the man on the desk who finally broke that quiet, but when he spoke his voice had lost its easily intimate good-fellowship. He spoke instead in a low-toned directness.