“What! You? After that bill aspersing your character!” He looked at Still keenly. “Do as you please! But Major Welch will offer no compromise.” He rose and walked off from Still for a moment, formulating in his mind some sentence that would relieve him from his relation of counsel to him. It was the first time he had been in the house since Still’s occupancy; and as he paced across the hall, the pictures lining the walls arrested his attention, and he began to examine them. He stopped in front of the “Indian-killer,” and gazed at it attentively.
“Astonishingly like him!” he muttered, musingly; and then after another look he asked, “Do you know whether there really was a cabinet behind that picture or not?” Still did not answer, but his face turned a sudden white. The old lawyer had his back to him. He stepped up nearer the picture and began to examine the frame more closely. “I believe there is,” he said, musingly. “Yes, that red paint goes under.” He took out a large pocket-knife. “Those nails are loose. I believe I’ll see.” He inserted the blade of his knife and began to prize at the frame. “My G—d! don’t do that!” exclaimed Still; and, giving a bound, he seized the old lawyer’s arm.
The latter turned on him in blank amazement. Still’s face was as white as death.
“What in the d—l is the matter with you?” demanded Mr. Bagby.
“Don’t! for God’s sake!” stammered Still, and staggered into a chair, the perspiration standing out on his forehead.
“What’s the matter with you, man?” Mr. Bagby poured out a glass of whiskey from a decanter on the table and gave it to him. The liquor revived him, and in a moment he began to talk.
It was nothing, he said, with a ghastly attempt at a smile. He had of late been having a sort of spells; had not been sleeping well—his son was giving him some physic for it; ’twas a sort of nervousness, and he supposed he just had one, and couldn’t help thinking of that story of the picture coming down always meaning bad luck, and the story of the old fellow being seen on horseback at night. Some of the niggers had been saying that he had been seen at night once or twice lately riding around, and he supposed that had got in his mind. But of course he didn’t believe any such lies as that.
“I hope not,” sniffed the old lawyer. He rose and took up his hat and saddle-bags. Still urged him to stay; he had had his horse put in the stable and fed; but Mr. Bagby said he must go, he wished to see Major Welch. He had made up his mind that he would not remain in the case as Still’s counsel. He could not get over the feeling that there was something in Still’s case which Still had not confided to him, or the idea of his wishing to compromise after a charge of fraud; and the rough way in which Still had seized his arm and had spoken to him had offended him. So he would not be his guest. He told Still that he felt that he could not act further as his counsel, in association with his other counsel. Again Still’s face blanched. He offered to throw them all over—except Leech. He was obliged to keep Leech; but the others he would let go. This, however, Mr. Bagby would not hear of.
As it was late, and the servants had retired, Still walked with Mr. Bagby to the stable to get his horse. He continued to urge him to remain in the suit as his counsel. But the old lawyer was firm.
As they approached the stables there came to them from the field over beyond the gardens and toward Major Welch’s the distant neigh of a horse. Still clutched Mr. Bagby’s arm.