“No, Sah; not yet.”
“Then show me into the library,” said the judge with bland authority, surrendering his hat to the butler. “Come along, Mahaffy!” he added. They entered the library, and the judge motioned Steve to close the door. “Now, boy, you'll kindly ask those people to withdraw—you may say it is Judge Price's orders. Allow no one to enter the house unless they have business with me, or as I send for them—you understand? After you have cleared the house, you may bring me a decanter of corn whisky—stop a bit—you may ask the sheriff to step here.”
“Yes, Sah.” And Steve withdrew.
The judge drew an easy-chair up to the flat-topped desk that stood in the center of the room, and seated himself.
“Are you going to make this the excuse for another drunk, Price? If so, I feel the greatest contempt for you,” said Mahaffy sternly.
The judge winced at this.
“You have made a regrettable choice of words, Solomon,” he urged gently.
“Where's your feeling for the boy?”
“Here!” said the judge, with an eloquent gesture, resting his hand on his heart.
“If you let whisky alone, I'll believe you, otherwise what I have said must stand.”