There was a pause of some duration. The Judge resumed.
"So be it, then," said he with a sort of suppressed sigh. "We'll see the body to-day, Bob, and you may come to-morrow at ten o'clock."
"Couldn't it be sooner?" asked Bob impatiently.
"Why sooner? Are you in such a hurry?" asked Mr Heart.
"What's the use of palaverin'?" said Bob sulkily. "I told you already I'm sick of my life. If you don't come till ten o'clock, by the time you've had your talk out and ridden to the Patriarch, the fever'll be upon me."
"But we can't be flying about like a parcel of wild geese, because of your fever," said the procurador.
"Certainly not," said Bob humbly.
"It's an ugly customer the fever, though, Mr Whyte," observed Mr Trace; "and I calculate we ought to do him that pleasure. What do you think, squire?"
"I reckon he's rather indiscreet in his askin's," said the judge, in a tone of vexation. "However, as he wishes it, and if it is agreeable to you," added he, turning to the Ayuntamiento; "and as it's you, Bob, I calculate we must do what you ask."
"Thankee," said Bob.