"That's of no consequence now, Mr. Hicks," interposed the deacon, throwing at the same time a deprecatory glance at the old justice, whose nose was growing redder, and whose eye began to twinkle in incipient wrath.
"Let the gentleman proceed with his interesting developments," said Hull, rising with the most ludicrous gravity, and waving his hand in a solemn and dignified manner.
"Well," said Joe, a little mollified at the word 'gentleman,' "ef I must tell it agin, I must, that's all. They was a picken strawberries like Old Sanko."
"How long do you think they were there, trampling down the grass?" asked the deacon.
"Why, I spose from the time I seed 'em"—here he stopped abruptly, glanced out of the window toward the tavern, spit thirstily, and then looked at the deacon.
"Let the gentleman proceed," again cried Hull, half rising, in mock respect.
"Proceed!" said the justice, angrily.
"Well, as I was a sayen, from the time I seed 'em—— But I say, deacon, I'm monstrous dry. You're temp'rance I know; but sposen as how you treat me and old Squire Tappit there to some red eye. He won't refuse, no how you can fix it, and as for me, I am so dry I really can't talk."
"Go on with your story, you scoundrel!" shouted the justice, exasperated beyond all bounds, "or I'll commit you to prison."
"Commit me to prison, you old brandy-jug!" yelled Joe, swinging off his ragged coat at a jerk, and throwing it on the floor, "commit me, you mahogany-nosed old sarpent!" advancing close to the justice, with both of his great fists ready.