“Let’s not talk about it, Dawn,” he suggested. “Jimmy will be out pretty quick, and he’ll come up the street, you know.”
Dawn glanced quickly at Franklyn Moran.
“It’s—uh—all right,” he said. “Fine, Dawn.”
“I don’t talk much,” said Pete dumbly.
“That’s fine,” grinned Hashknife, “You’re a man after my own heart.”
Dawn and Pete went hurriedly up the aisle. The old judge came down to Hashknife and Moran and held out his hand to Hashknife.
“I don’t pretend to know much about it,” he said slowly.
They shook hands gravely, and Moran shook hands with the judge.
“You know many things, young man,” said the judge. “I have grown very old today, but I’m going to grow younger. I hope you stay with us; Turquoise City needs men like you.”
“I hope he will stay,” said Moran. “I’m still shocked, and I don’t know what to do or say.”