There was an unholy glee in that mirth––a mocking, lilting note of actual joy which rang almost profane at such a moment. Man for man it brought that circle erect in the chairs; man for man they sat and stared at the grotesque figure which was rocking now in a paroxysm of laughter too real for simulation. In a breathless hush they turned from the offender back to the judge, waiting, appalled, for the storm to break.
Judge Maynard’s round moon-face went purple. Twice he tried to speak before he sat silent, annihilation in his eyes, until Jerry’s outbreak had subsided. Then he lifted one forefinger and pointed, with all the majesty such a gesture could ever convey, to the empty chair––the chair which Old Jerry should have been occupying in becoming silence at that moment.
“Have you gone crazy?” he thundered. “Have you––or are you just naturally witless? Or was there something you wanted to say? If there isn’t––if you’ve no questions to ask––you get over to that chair and sit down where you belong!”
It was then that the rest of the circle realized that something had gone wrong––most mightily wrong! According to all precedent, the little, white-haired man should have shrunk back and cowered beneath that verbal lash, and obeyed without a glance. They all realized that there was imminent a climax unforeseen by all––all but the Judge; and he was too blind with rage to see.
Very meekly Old Jerry bore his thundered rebuke––too meekly. But after the judge had finished he failed to move; he merely stood there, facing the town’s great man. And in his attitude there was something of infantile, derisive, sparrowlike impudence as he peered back into the Judge’s face––something that was very like the attitude of an outraged, 148 ruffled old reprobate of a parrot rearing himself erect.
Old Jerry made no haste. It was a thing which required a nice deliberation. And so he waited––waited and prolonged the moment to its last, sweetest second. Once more he chuckled, to himself this time––just once, before he began to speak. That old Tavern office had never been so deathly still before.
“A question?” he echoed at last, thoughtfully. “A question? Well, Jedge, there was one thing I was a-goin’ to ask you. Jest one triflin’ thing I was kinda curious to know. Why, I was a-goin’ to ask you, back a spell––What did you hev? It kinda interested me, wonderin’ about it. But now––now that I’ve heard your story in full, I reckon I’ll hev to change that question a mite. I reckon they ain’t nothin’ left but to ask you––How many did you hev? How many, Jedge? For, Jedge, you’re talkin’ most mighty wild tonight!”
And that silence endured––endured even after the huge man had half-risen, purple features gone white, and then dropped heavily back into his chair before that rigid figure in its sodden garments which had turned from him toward the rest of the circle of regulars.
Old Jerry made his formal exit that night––he knew that he was resigning his chair––but the thing was very cheap at the price.