Suddenly she turned back. “Where’s the Judge?”
Higby stared at her. Then he said, “I-i-in his study—he ordered co-co-coffee there. You’re not going to s-s-see him?”
“Why aint I?” she asked, irritably. “Why aint I?”
“I d-d-don’t know,” stammered Higby. “Only you don’t generally call on him this time of day.”
“Lead the way,” she said, grandly. “Step out.”
Higby stumbled up the steps before her, the dishes rattling as he went. When he opened the study door Mrs. Blodgett walked in after him.
The Judge was standing before the fireplace in a melancholy attitude, with his hands behind his back.
He looked at Mrs. Blodgett as she came in, but did not seem surprised. His servants often came to him with their troubles.
“Well, Mrs. Blodgett,” he said, patiently, when Higby poured out his cup of coffee and handed it to him.
“I’ve somewhat to say to you, sir,” she replied, with a toss of her head.