“May be the worst we can do is to make him take care of the child,� said Judge Hollis.
“That won’t do,� said Zeb, “that ain’t enough; he left her to starve, and me to starve—she tole me who it was!�
Judge Hollis was not without curiosity, but he restrained it manfully. He even took his paper-cutter and folded the paper before him in little plaits. “Zeb,� he said, “it’s a rotten business, but the girl’s dead and Caleb Trench has taken the child and—�
“It’s him, curse him, it’s him!� Zeb cried, shaking his fist.
Judge Hollis dropped the paper-cutter and rose from his chair, his great figure, in the long dark blue coat, towering.
“How dare you say that?� he demanded, “you cur—you skunk!�
But Zeb was ugly; he set his teeth, and his crazy eyes flashed. “I tell you it’s him,� he cried; “ain’t I said she tole me?�
“Damn you, I don’t believe you,� the judge shouted; “it’s money you want, money!� He grabbed the shaking boy by the nape of the neck, as a dog takes a rat, and shook him. “You clear out,� he raged, “and you keep your damned lying, dirty tongue still!� and flung him out and locked the door.
Then, panting slightly, he went back to his seat, swung it to his desk again, rolled back his cuffs and wiped the perspiration from his forehead. Then he pulled his pen out of the ink-well and shook the surplus ink over the floor and began to write; he wrote two pages and dropped his pen. His head sank, his big shoulders bowed over, he was lost in thought. He thought there for an hour, while nothing stirred except the mouse that was gnawing his old law-books and had persistently evaded Miss Sarah’s vigilance. Then the judge brought his great fist down on his desk, and the ink-well danced, and the pen rolled off.
“My God!� he exclaimed to himself, “I’ve loved him like a son, the girl was treated like hell—it can’t be true!�