“You talk too much. Shut up, or you'll go where Norton went.”
Now the judge was accessible to certain forms of fear. He was, for instance, afraid of snakes—both kinds—and mobs he had dreaded desperately since his Pleasantville experience; but beyond this, fear remained an unexplored region to Slocum Price, and as he examined the scrawl a smile betokening supreme satisfaction overspread his battered features. He was agreeably affected by the situation; indeed he was delighted. His activities were being recognized; he had made his impression; the cutthroats had selected him to threaten. Well, the damned rascals showed their good sense; he'd grant them that! Swelling with pride, he carried the scrawl to Mahaffy.
“They are forming their estimate of me, Solomon; I shall have them on the run yet!” he declared.
“You are going out of your way to hunt trouble—as if you hadn't enough at the best of times, Price! Let these people manage their own affairs, don't you mix up in them,” advised the conservative Mahaffy.
The judge drew himself up with an air of lofty pride.
“Do you think I am going to be silenced, intimidated, by this sort of thing? No, sir! No, Solomon, the stopper isn't made that will fit my mouth.”
A few moments later he burst in on Mr. Saul.
“Glance at that, my friend!” he cried, as he tossed the paper on the clerk's desk. “Eh, what?—no joke about that, Mr. Saul. I found it under my door this morning.” Mr. Saul glanced at the penciled lines and drew in his breath sharply. “What do you make of it, sir?” demanded the judge anxiously.
“Well, of course, you'll do as you please, but I'd keep still.”
“You mean you regard this as an authentic expression, sir, and not as the joke of some irresponsible humorist?”