"It's good of you to take me in, Judge," said Austen, patting his shoulder. And then he began, quite naturally to unbuckle the breechings and loose the traces, which he did with such deftness and celerity that he had the horse unharnessed and in the stall in a twinkling, and had hauled the buggy through the stable door, the Honourable Hilary watching him the while. He was troubled, but for the life of him could find no adequate words, who usually had the dictionary at his disposal.
"Didn't write me why you came home," said the Honourable Hilary, as his son washed his hands at the spigot.
"Didn't I? Well, the truth was I wanted to see you again, Judge."
His father grunted, not with absolute displeasure, but suspiciously.
"How about Blodgett?" he asked.
"Blodgett? Have you heard about that? Who told you?"
"Never mind. You didn't. Nothing in your letter about it."
"It wasn't worth mentioning," replied Austen. "Tyner and the boys liked it pretty well, but I didn't think you'd be interested. It was a local affair."
"Not interested! Not worth mentioning!" exclaimed the Honourable Hilary, outraged to discover that his son was modestly deprecating an achievement instead of defending a crime. "Godfrey! murder ain't worth mentioning, I presume."
"Not when it isn't successful," said Austen. "If Blodgett had succeeded,
I guess you'd have heard of it before you did."