Joe expected shrill, nasal protest. Instead the man sat there, huddled in tremulous abjection. By and by the fingers, strong and work-hardened, began to move slowly; and with that Joe saw a look of shrewd, calculating cunning steal into the eyes. He was like a man who, lost, sees a glimmer of hope.
“Doctor, most likely this Jud Cory’s been a-tellin’ you a passel o’ lies. But it ain’t fitten to speak ill o’ the dead, and Boothy’s my brother and I don’t hanker t’ have folks a-whisperin’ about him and makin’ light o’ his good name. Tell you what I’ll do, Doctor. I’ll give this Jud Cory enough to stop his mouth. Likely he’ll need it, anyway, t’ pay his trial lawyer.”
“That’s kind of you,” Dr. Stone said dryly.
Mr. Wilkes wrote a check and pressed it into the blind man’s hand.
“It’s no more than fair to tell you, Wilkes, that Herman Lang is not expected here.”
With a snarl the man was on his feet. “Give me that check!” Lady gave a warning growl, and on the instant the grasping hand was stayed. Mr. Wilkes shrank back.
“It would be a simple matter to telegraph and bring him East,” the doctor said pointedly.
As slowly as it had come the shrewd cunning faded out of the man’s eyes. He sank back into the chair.
Dr. Stone held out the slip of paper. “How much is it for, Joe?”
“Five thousand dollars, Uncle David.” This time it was the boy who trembled. Five thousand dollars was the amount of cash Boothy Wilkes had drawn from the bank.