“Have no worries about the b’ys wid corked boots,” said O’Toole. “Think ye we don’t know Mike Moran?” “But Zaanan won’t help himself,” said the old man. “I’ll see Zaanan the minute we get to town,” promised Jim. He kept his word. From the train he walked straight to Zaanan’s office. Dolf Springer sat on the door-step, his head hunched down between his shoulders, a very picture of disconsolation. He scarcely looked up as Jim passed him. Zaanan, as always in his leisure moments, was reading Tiffany’s _Justices’ Guide_. Jim fancied that the old man’s figure was less erect than formerly, that it drooped with discouragement, with disappointment over the crumbling of the work of his life. Jim could mark on Zaanan’s face the effects of the blow he had received when it became plain his people were turning against him. To realize their ingratitude, how little they appreciated the expenditure of his life in their behalf, must have grieved the old justice sorely. He greeted Jim with his usual brief phrase, “Howdy?” “Judge,” said Jim, breaking impetuously into the subject of his coming, wasting no time in preliminaries, “we’ve got to get up and stir ourselves.” “Um! What’s been happenin’ to you now? Worried ’cause you couldn’t sell your option?” Jim was a bit startled at Zaanan’s knowledge of the failure of his errand, but brushed aside his curiosity to know how the old justice came by his information. “It’s not myself I’m worrying about; it’s you, Judge, and Diversity. Even your friends admit you’re beaten. They say you admit it yourself. They think you’re too old to get out and fight.” “Heard me admittin’ I was beat, Jim, eh? Heard me sayin’ any sich thing?” “No.” “Think I’m too old, Jim, eh? Past my usefulness?” “You’re the best man of all of us. That’s why—” Zaanan’s eyes twinkled for a moment, then he bent his head in an attitude of weariness, “Folks is tired of me, Jim. They calc’late I’ve outstayed my welcome. Noticed that, Jim, eh?” “They’ve been bamboozled into thinking it, or paid to think it.” “But they think it, all the same. Any reason I shouldn’t give ’em a chance to run their logs without me? See why I shouldn’t git a minnit’s peace and quiet at the tail end of my life, eh? Specially when folks is anxious I should?” “Yes, Judge, I do see a reason. These are your people. You’ve made them what they are. You’ve looked after them for years and, maybe, because you’ve looked after them so thoroughly and well, they are less able to look after themselves than they should be. You’re responsible for them. Nobody but you can save them and this town from passing into a condition that will be intolerable. You aren’t entitled to rest. You’ve got to get into this fight—and win.” “Perty late, hain’t it, Jim? Perty late in the day?” “We’ll just have to work that much harder.”