CHAPTER XXXIII. THE JUDGE RECEIVES A LETTER
After he had parted with Solomon Mahaffy the judge applied himself diligently to shaping that miracle-working document which he was preparing as an offset to whatever risk he ran in meeting Fentress. As sanguine as he was sanguinary he confidently expected to survive the encounter, yet it was well to provide for a possible emergency—had he not his grandson's future to consider? While thus occupied he saw the afternoon stage arrive and depart from before the City Tavern.
Half an hour later Mr. Wesley, the postmaster, came sauntering up the street. In his hand he carried a letter.
“Howdy,” he drawled, from just beyond the judge's open door.
The judge glanced up, his quill pen poised aloft.
“Good evening, sir; won't you step inside and be seated?” he asked graciously. His dealings with the United States mail service were of the most insignificant description, and in personally delivering a letter, if this was what had brought him there, he felt Mr. Wesley had reached the limit of official courtesy and despatch.
“Well, sir; it looks like you'd never told us more than two-thirds of the truth!” said the postmaster. He surveyed the judge curiously.
“I am complimented by your opinion of my veracity,” responded that gentleman promptly. “I consider two-thirds an enormously high per cent to have achieved.”
“There is something in that, too,” agreed Mr. Wesley. “Who is Colonel Slocum Price Turberville?”