“No. The Judge told me to put you in jail and I 'm goin' to do it.” He took two huge iron keys from his deputy and rattled them fiercely.
Turkle shrank back with horror.
“You ain't goin' to put me in thar, Aleck! Not in that hole! Not just for a little drop o' whiskey. It was your whiskey, too, Aleck. I was drinkin' yo' health, Aleck. You know I was.”
“The Judge won't know anything about it. He 'll never think of it again,” pleaded several of Turkle's friends. “You know he has ordered a drunken man put there before and never said any more about it—just told you to discharge him next day.”
Turkle stiffened up with hope.
“Yes, Aleck.” He leaned on the Sheriff's arm heavily. “He 's drunk himself—I don't mean that, I mean you 're drunk—oh, no—I mean I'm drunk. Everybody 's drunk.”
“Yes, you 've gone and called me a drunkard before the Court. Now I 'm goin' to show you.” Thompson rattled his big keys again savagely.
Turkle caught him with both hands.
“Oh, Aleck, don't talk that a-way,” he pleaded in a tremulous voice. “Don't talk that a-way!” He burst into tears and flung his arms around the Sheriff's neck. He protested that he had never, seen him take a drink in his life; he would go and tell the Judge so; if necessary, he would swear to it on a Bible.
“Aleck, you know I love you better than anybody in this world—except my wife and children. Yes, better than them—better than Jinny. Jinny will tell you that herself. Oh! Aleck!” He clung to him and sobbed!