Bradley chuckled, and William frowned at him; then, addressing himself to the Judge, the old fellow said: "You did. You disputed it. You call me a liar every time I open my mouth."
"William, you have often declared that you are not in the plot, but the first thing you know you may break into it."
"No, I won't!" William exclaimed, shaking his finger. "And I won't break into your intellectual atmosphere, either." He turned to Bradley. "Why, sir, John is a regular professor, browbeating his class. He expects everybody to talk book. I say, damn a book. I beg your pardon. It is the first time I ever said that in the presence of a preacher."
Bradley laughed. "It's all right, Mr. William, if you feel that way."
"Is it? Then, I say, damn a book. What I want is action."
"I subscribe to your doctrine concerning much of our literary output," said the preacher.
William was so delighted at this that he seized the preacher's hand and shook it with more of vigor than he was wont to put forth. "Good for you, Bradley. I am half inclined to come to hear you preach."
A twinkle in the Judge's eye showed that again he was playing in the midst of his sorrow. "You'd never get there, William. You could never settle on the date."
"Oh, you be confound, John. I have settled on more dates than you ever saw." He arose, went to the table and took up a pair of long shears. "Let me take these to my room, will you? I want to clip out something for my scrap-book."
"Oh, I thought you damned a book. No, sir, put those shears right down where you found them. You took my mucilage off yesterday and I had to go after it—down where you found them."