“Now, Father Bruce!” exclaimed Gay. “You could n't be so mean?” The old man looked up at her slyly and pulled at his white beard. “I bet you been doin' some more crooked business, engagin' the judiciary's son to corrupt the judge in hopes it will sway justice from the straight path, ain't you?” he cackled. “Dead wrong, I call it. Improper to beat the band. Reg'lar confession of guilt.” He dropped into a porch chair and wiped his face. “Never knew it so hot this time of the year. Big storm brewing, I shouldn't wonder,” he said seriously. “About your Lem, now. There ain't goin' to be no trial. Nor for that big, fat fool father of his, neither. Charges has been withdrawn and case wiped from the docket. They've got strong friends.” “That's not just regular, is it, father?” Carter asked, laughing. “What in tunket do I care if it is regular or not?” said Bruce. “I run my justice court to suit Judge Bruce. Told 'em I would when they come pesterin' me to take another term. I run on the platform, 'Old Judge Bruce will lay down the law the way he dumb pleases,' and that's how I was elected.” He filled his pipe and lighted it. “About your Lem boy,” he said, “there ain't goin' to be no trouble. To my notion we ain't got a better citizen in town than Sam Cantor, if he is a Jew. He sells good clothes and if they ain't satisfactory he hands you your money back, and no fussin'. Now, this here old pair of pants I got on--well, no matter. He comes up to my justice shop this momin' and he handed me one of the best seegars I ever stuck in my face. 'Judge,' he says, 'how are them pants wearin'?' 'All right, Sam,' I says. 'Don't look so to me,' he says; 'looks to me like you ain't gettin' good wear out of 'em. You better come around tomorrow and let me fit you to a new pair, or I won't lay easy in my grave.' 'Let me see!' I says, 'a new pair of pants is worth about six dollars, Sam. Who's hopin' to get let off from about a twenty-dollar fine?' That's how I talk to Sam Cantor!” He cackled again gleefully. “But I thought it was Moses Shuder brought the charges against Harve Redding and the boys,” said Carter Bruce. “Is n't Shuder a protégé of Cantor's?” “That's it,” said Bruce. “That's the nub of it, right there. 'Judge,' Sam says, 'I'll lay my cards right on the table. You know my friend Shuder and the rest of the long beards ain't any too popular around here yet, and you know it was me that started the move to raise money to fetch them from Russia or Poland or wherever it was they was. If old Dod-Baste and them three boys gets jailed or anything, them long beards is going to be more unpopular than ever. I've got to look out for Our People,' he says. 'I can't have 'em hated. I've had a talk with Mose Shuder and he's ready to lay down on his back and stick his legs in the air and yell, “Excuse me,” if you'll just wipe the slate clean.' So I give it a wipe, and that's ended. And to-morrow momin' I git a new pair of pants.”