Part 38 (2/2)

”More--book--more.”

It had been an experiment, the lawyer having doubted whether Uncle John's untrained fingers, dulled by age, could pick out the letters, large as they were. He had nothing more to offer, therefore, and no way of answering the appeal. But that night an order for the New Testament in raised characters for the blind went out from Shelbyville.

Judge Little was making no progress in establis.h.i.+ng the will. n.o.body had come forward in answer to his advertis.e.m.e.nts in the city papers, claiming for himself the distinction of being Isom Chase's son. But the judge gave Ollie to understand, in spite of his quiescence while he searched for the heir, that the courts must settle the question. If there were fees to be had out of that estate, Judge Little was the man to get them.

Meantime, in his cell in the county jail, Joe Newbolt was bearing the heaviest penance of his life. Alice had not come again. Two visiting days had pa.s.sed, and there would be no more before the date of the trial, which was set for the following Monday. But since that dun morning when she had given him the mignonette, and he had drawn her unresisting body to the barrier of his prison door, she had visited him no more.

Joe reproached himself for it. He accused himself of having offended beyond forgiveness. In the humiliation which settled upon him, he wasted like water in the sun. The mignonette which she had given him withered, dried; its perfume vanished, its blossoms turned gray. She came no more.

What did it matter if they convicted him before the judge, said he, now that Alice had condemned him in her heart. He lamented that he had blundered into such deep offending. His untutored heart had seen only the reflection of his own desire in her eyes that day. She did not care for him. It was only pity that he had distorted into love.

He had inquired about her, timidly, of the sheriff, who had looked at him with a slow wink, then formed his mouth into an egg-shaped aperture and held it so an exasperating while, as if he meant to whistle. The sheriff's clownish behavior nettled Joe, for he was at a loss to understand what he meant.

”I thought maybe she'd sent over some books,” said Joe, blus.h.i.+ng like a hollyhock.

”Books!” said the sheriff, with a grunt.

”Yes, sir,” Joe answered, respectfully.

”Huh, she never sent no books,” said the sheriff, turning away.

After a little he came back and stood before Joe's door, with his long legs far apart, studying the prisoner calculatively, as a farmer stands when he estimates the weight of a hog.

”Cree-mo-nee!” said he.

He laughed then, much to Joe's confusion, and totally beyond his comprehension. The sheriff left him with that. From the pa.s.sage his laugh came back.

The day was Friday; Joe plucked up a little hope when he heard the sheriff conducting somebody to the corridor gate. It was Colonel Price, who had exercised his political influence over the sheriff and induced him to set aside his new regulations for the day. The colonel made apologies to Joe for what might seem his lack of interest in his welfare.

Joe inquired of him concerning Alice, with respectful dignity. She was well, said the colonel, and asked to be remembered. What else the colonel said on that occasion Joe did not recall. All that he could think of was that Alice had desired to be remembered.

What an ironical message to send him, thought Joe. If she only had come herself, and given him the a.s.surance with her eyes that there was no stored censure, no burning reproach; if she had come, and quieted the doubt, the uncertainty, of his self-tortured soul. His case had become secondary beside Alice. The colonel talked of it, but Joe wondered if the mignonette in her garden was dead. The colonel shook his head gravely when he went away from the jail that day. It was plain that the boy was suffering with that load on his mind and the uncertainty of the outcome pressing upon him. He mentioned it to Alice.

”I think we'd better try to get him another lawyer,” said the colonel.

”Hammer never will be equal to that job. It will be more the size of Judge Burns, or one of the old heads. That boy's in a pickle, Alice, and a mighty tight one, at that.”

”But he's innocent--you don't doubt that?” said she.

”Not for a minute,” the colonel declared. ”I guess I should have been looking after him closer, but that picture intervened between us. He's wearing away to a shadow, chafing and pining there in jail, poor chap.”

”Do you think he'll consent to your employing another lawyer for him?”

she asked, searching his face wistfully.

”I don't know; he's so set in the notion of loyalty to Hammer--just as if anybody could hurt Hammer's feelings! If the boy will consent to it, I'll hire Judge Burns at my own expense.”

”I don't suppose he will,” sighed she.

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