“All right,” said the judge, with a calmness that made them tremble. They had never bearded him before. “All right, you are two to one and no certificate has been issued. But I tell you this, gentlemen, that you will live to see the day when you will bitterly regret this injustice to an innocent and a noble woman, and Isaac D. Worthington will live to regret it. You may tell him I said so. Good day, gentlemen.” They rose. “Jedge,” began Mr. Dodd again, “I don't think you've been quite fair with us.” “Fair!” repeated the judge, with unutterable scorn. “Good day, gentlemen.” And he slammed the door behind them. They walked down the street some distance before either of them spoke. “Goliah,” said Mr. Dodd, at last, “did you ever hear such talk? He's got the drattedest temper of any man I ever knew, and he never callates to make a mistake. It's a little mite hard to do your duty when a man talks that way.” “I'm not sure we've done it,” answered Mr. Hill. “Not sure!” ejaculated the hardware dealer, for he was now far enough away from the judge's house to speak in his normal tone, “and she connected with that depraved--” “Hold on,” said Mr. Hill, with an astonishing amount of spirit for him, “I've heard that before.” Mr. Dodd looked at him, swallowed the wrong way and began to choke. “You hain't wavered, Jonathan?” he said, when he got his breath. “No, I haven't,” said Mr. Hill, sadly; “but I wish to hell I had.” Mr. Dodd looked at him again, and began to choke again. It was the first time he had known Jonathan Hill to swear. “You're a-goin' to stick by what you agreed--by your principles?” “I'm going to stick by my bread and butter,” said Mr. Hill, “not by my principles. I wish to hell I wasn't.” And so saying that gentleman departed, cutting diagonally across the street through the snow, leaving Mr. Dodd still choking and pulling at his tuft. This third and totally-unexpected shaking-up had caused him to feel somewhat deranged internally, though it had not altered the opinions now so firmly planted in his head. After a few moments, however, he had collected himself sufficiently to move on once more, when he discovered that he was repeating to himself, quite unconsciously, Mr. Hill's profanity “I wish to hell I wasn't.” The iron mastiffs glaring at him angrily out of the snow banks reminded him that he was in front of Mr. Worthington's door, and he thought he might as well go in at once and receive the great man's gratitude. He certainly deserved it. But as he put his hand on the bell Mr. Worthington himself came out of the house, and would actually have gone by without noticing Mr. Dodd if he had not spoken. “I've got that little matter fixed, Mr. Worthington,” he said, “called the committee, and we voted to discharge the--the young woman.” No, he did not deliver Judge Graves's message.