The colonel sighed. “I wish Jacob was,� he thought, but he did not speak.
XXII
JUDGE HOLLIS was writing in his office. He had been writing five hours and the green shade of his lamp was awry, while his briar-wood had just gone out for the ninety-ninth time. Some one knocked twice on the outer door before he noticed it. Then he shouted: “Come in!�
After some fumbling with the lock the door opened, and Zeb Bartlett’s shambling figure lurched into the room. He came in boldly, but cowered as he met the judge’s fierce expression. The old man swung around in his chair and faced him, his great overhanging brows drawn together over glowing eyes, and his lip thrust out.
The boy was stricken speechless, and stood hat in hand, feebly rubbing the back of his head. The judge, who hated interruption and loathed incompetence, scowled. “What d’ye want here?� he demanded.
Zeb wet his parched lips with his tongue. “I want the law on him,� he mumbled; “I want the law on him!�
“What in thunder are you mumbling about?� demanded the old man impatiently; “some one stole your wits?�
“It was him did my sister wrong,� Zeb said, his tongue loosed between fear and hate; “it’s him, and I want him punished—now they’ve got him!�
Judge Hollis threw the pen that he had been holding suspended into the ink-well. “See here, Zeb,� he said, “if you can tell us who ruined your poor crazed sister, why, by the Lord Harry, I’d like to punish him!�
Zeb looked cunning; he edged nearer to the desk. “I can tell you,� he said, “I can tell you right cl’ar off, but—I want him punished!�