“Rattlebrain! Gusher! Enthusiast!” exclaimed the Judge when he finished. His stupefaction was over. He began to be angry.
“Do you see he does not even ask to hear from me what I think of this,” he went on, shaking the letter at Titus, who sat open-mouthed. “He is so sure he is right. He always was—rushed headlong into every breach. I would not have had him mixed up in this matter for a very great deal. Georgeson is a foolish man not to keep his own council,” and in considerable excitement the Judge got up and paced the floor.
“If I knew when he was coming I would meet him at the station and send him right back to Folsom,” he said at last, stopping before Titus.
“Well, sir,” said the boy, “he’s got to come on the 10:30 or the 3:15. If he comes on the 10:30 he’s here now. I’ll look out the hall window now,” and he stepped outside.
“Jiminy!” he exclaimed, rushing back, “here’s an open sleigh coming full tilt down the avenue with a boy in it.”
The Judge wheeled round as if to go into the hall, then he stopped short. “I can’t see him. After all, it isn’t his fault, and he has been lately bereaved. Do you receive him, Titus?”
“I-I-I was going to school,” said Titus, who, having recovered his equilibrium, began to stutter; “shall I take him with me?”
“Yes, no; I don’t care,” said the Judge. “Tell him how things are if you get a chance. I’ll see him at lunch.”
Titus darted out of the room, went running and limping down the stairs, and was beside Higby when he opened the door.
A tall, pale, handsome lad in a thin light overcoat stood on the threshold.