“To be sure, I know it's murder,” responded Big Kennedy. “I'd be plankin' down bail for him if it was anything else. But what's that got to do with you skip-pin' into th' hall? You don't think I'm goin' to pass him any files or saws, do you?” “Really, Mr. Warden,” said young Morton, crossing over to where the warden lingered irresolutely, “really, you don't expect to stay and overhear our conversation! Why, it would be not only impolite, but perposterous! Besides, it's not my way, don't y' know!” And here young Morton put on his double eyeglass and ran the warden up and down with an intolerant stare. “But he's charged, I tell you,” objected the warden, “with killin' Jimmy th' Blacksmith. I can't go to givin' him privileges an' takin' chances; I'd get done up if I did.” “You'll get done up if you don't!” growled Big Kennedy. “It is as you say,” went on young Morton, still holding the warden in the thrall of that wonderful eyeglass, “it is quite true that this person, James the Horseshoer as you call him, has been slain and will never shoe a horse again. But our friend had no hand in it, as we stand ready to spend one hundred thousand dollars to establish. And by the way, speaking of money,”--here young Morton turned to Big Kennedy--“didn't you say as we came along that it would be proper to remunerate this officer for our encroachments upon his time?” “Why, yes,” replied Big Kennedy, with an ugly glare at the warden, “I said that it might be a good idea to sweeten him.” “Sweeten! Ah, yes; I recall now that sweeten was the term you employed. A most extraordinary word for paying money. However,” and here young Morton again addressed the warden, tendering him at the same time a one-hundred-dollar bill, “here is a small present. Now let us have no more words, my good man.” The warden, softened by the bill, went out and closed the door. I could see that he looked on young Morton in wonder and smelled upon him a mysterious authority. As one disposed to cement a friendship just begun, the warden, as he left, held out his hand to young Morton. “You're th' proper caper!” he exclaimed, in a gush of encomium; “you're a gent of th' right real sort!” Young Morton gazed upon the warden's outstretched hand as though it were one of the curious things of nature. At. last he extended two fingers, which the warden grasped. “This weakness for shaking hands,” said young Morton, dusting his gloved fingers fastidiously, “this weakness for shaking hands on the part of these common people is inexcusable. Still, on the whole, I did not think it a best occasion for administering a rebuke, don't y' know, and so allowed that low fellow his way.”