“Haskell’s girl gits it, does she?” asked Babb. “Yas! Sence ’Caje Dunham whirled ’round and showed some signs of bein’ human, Sum found that he was in a class by himself as the meanest man in town, and he got jealous of ’Caje.” “It won’t hurt this place none if some of the rest of ’em runs races of the same sort,” said Buck. The click of the key in the lock above their heads startled them. Squire Phin was coming down the stairs, shoving the key of his office into his trousers. “We’ve jest been list’nin’ to some news about you, Squire,” called one of the group on the bench. Squire Phin came around the corner of the stairway, put his hands behind his back and smiled at them. “What now, neighbours?” he inquired. “Says here in Ase’s paper that you’re goin’ to be a judge,” replied Buck. “Well, that _is_ news,” said the Squire, and yet with a quizzical cock to his eyebrows that indicated that he was in no measure surprised. “Go ’long with you! You knowed it all the time!” snorted Buck. “I always believe in giving my old neighbours all the news I can when they want it,” the lawyer said humorously, “for news has been scarce in town lately. I’m going to give you something straight now. You will hear this before the newspapers do: I have written to the Governor declining that honour with grateful thanks.” “Won’t be a judge?” queried Amazeen with astonishment, “I’d rather be Phin Look, lawyer,” said the Squire, with a queer little glint in his eyes. “I’ll bet you ten dollars I know why,” snapped Uncle Buck, with the frankness of an old friend. “A man that knows was telling me that all you have to do is set up there in your office and rake in money hand over fist, sellin’ law to the big corporations. And a Supreme Court judge only gits five thousand a year.” His gimlet eye bored the Squire, and a question that his curiosity had prompted for a long time popped out of his mouth. “A man what ought to know told me that you was clearin’ fifteen thousand dollars a year out of law. Now, Squire, I stump you to say that he lied. Did he, or didn’t he?” The lawyer so thoroughly appreciated the character of Uncle Buck that this attack was flavoured for him with delicious humour. He came close to the old man and put his hands on his hips as he straddled before him. “I’m goin’ to tell you the honest truth, Uncle Lys,” he said. The inquisitor pulled himself forward. “If a man is a Supreme Court judge in this State he must be away from home almost three-quarters of his time. Now the straight facts of the case are----” He whirled on his heel and pointed up the street. They all could see the gate of the Willard place. A woman was standing there waiting, and against her pretty white gown was silhouetted the figure of a shaggy dog. “Now, the straight facts are, Uncle Lys, my wife wants me home every night to help water the garden. I’ve coaxed and teased, but she won’t let me be a judge.” A pucker of mirth came around his lips.