Abigail took the notes mechanically; he had turned and was at the door before she spoke. “God forgive you!” said she. “Good-bye.”
“That was a decent speech, Marker,” said Wickliff, “and you’ll see I’ll treat you decent on the way. Good-morning, Miss Courtlandt. I needn’t say, I guess, that no one will know anything of this little matter from the squire or me, not even the squire’s wife. I ’ain’t got one. I wish you good-morning, ma’am. No, ma’am”—as she made a hurried motion of the money towards him—“I shall get a large reward; don’t think of it, ma’am. But if you felt like doing the civil thing to the squire, a box of cigars is what any gentleman is proud to receive from a lady, and I should recommend leaving the brand to the best cigar-store you know. Good-morning, ma’am.”
Barely were the footsteps out of the hall when the worthy justice, very red and dusty, bounced out of the closet. “Excuse me,” gasped he, “but I couldn’t stand it a minute longer! Sit down, Miss Courtlandt; and don’t, please, think of fainting, miss, for I’m nearly smothered myself!” He bustled to the water-cooler, and proffered water, dripping over a tin cup on to Abbie’s hands and gown; and he explained, with that air of intimate friendliness which is a part of the American’s mental furniture, “I thought it better to let Wickliff persuade him by himself. He is a remarkable man, Amos Wickliff; I don’t suppose there’s a special officer west of the Mississippi is his equal for arresting bad cases. And do you know, ma’am, he never was after this Marker. Just come here on a friendly visit to the chief of police. All he knew of Marker was from the newspapers; he had been reading the letter of the man Marker swindled in Canada, and his offer of a reward for him. Marker’s picture was in it, and a description of his hair and all his looks, and Wickliff just picked him out from that. I call that pretty smart, picking up a man from his picture in a newspaper. Why, I”—he assumed a modest expression, but glowed with pride—“I have had my picture in the paper, and my wife didn’t know it. Yes, ma’am, Wickliff is at the head of the profession, and no mistake! Didn’t have a sign of a warrant. Just jumped on the job; telegraphed for a warrant to meet him at Toronto.”
“But will he take him safely to Canada?” stammered Miss Abigail.
“Not a doubt of it,” said the justice. And it may be mentioned here that his prediction came true. Wickliff sent a telegram the next day to the chief of police, announcing his safe arrival.
Miss Courtlandt went to Chicago by the evening train. She is a happier woman, and her family often say, “How nice Abbie is growing!” She has never seen the justice since; but when his daughter was married the whole connection marvelled and admired over a trunk of silver that came to the bride—“From one to whom her father was kind.”
The only comment that the justice made was to his wife: “Yes, my dear, you’re right; it is a woman, a lady; but if you knew all about it, how I never saw her but the once, and all, you wouldn’t mind Bessie’s taking it. She was a nice lady, and I’m glad to have obliged her. But it really ought to go to another man.”