“It’s mighty pretty,” said the Judge, holding it up. He rose, still looking at it. “Must ’a’ cost somethin’, too. Excuse me a minute.” He went to the front door, looked out, opened it, disappeared for a moment and then entered again. His hands were deep in his trousers’ pockets now, and as he talked he walked to and fro. “Homer,” he said, “you’re right about not hangin’ on to that fruit job. I think you oughta begin to plan on goin’ into business for your own self. You’ll want t’ settle down soon an’ have a little home. I’d like to help you out on it, ’cause I’ve got your good at heart, boy. You could build right on that lot of your maw’s. It’s a big lot. An’ then about a good, payin’ business for you--I’ve got two or three ideas I’d like to propose. (Y’see, I’m in a gassy mood t’day.) Now, the first idea is like this----” Five minutes passed; then five more, and still the Judge talked on. Homer listened without raising his eyes. At last the rattle of a board in the rickety sidewalk made the Judge pause. Once more he went to the door and stepped outside. When he came back into the courtroom he walked unsteadily, like one suddenly seized with a sickness. He sat down, not at his desk, but in the chair next to the younger man; then he reached out a trembling hand. “Homer,” he said huskily, “forgive me for coming back to that nugget business. It’s made me feel turrible, somehow. Boy, you know I’m your friend, don’t you? Now, let’s have the hull truth about Mrs. Luce. Homer”--he lifted a hand and pointed to the flag--“look at that an’ tell me: Have you got them nuggets?” His voice broke with its pleading. Homer jerked away his hand and sprang to his feet. “Do you want me to lie and say I stole her nuggets?” he demanded. “All right, I’ll lie! I’ll----” The Judge also rose. And now his voice was calm and cold. “I don’t like lies,” he said. “And I think this matter has been drug out far enough.” He reached into an outer coat pocket for the medal and handed it to the other. Then he reached into the pocket a second time and drew forth--a string of nuggets. Homer’s face whitened to ghastliness, his jaw fell. He retreated, knocking over his chair and backing into the Judge’s desk. There he hung, panting. “Oh, boy!” said the Judge. The other strove to speak; but his voice would not come, and the hands that clutched at the desk were shaking. “I sent your medal to Carpenter,” explained the Judge. “An’ he sent the string.” “Then he’ll grab me. It’s embezzlement. I can’t pay him back. I’ll go to jail!” “Sh! I sent a check, too.” “For how much? Oh, Gid!” The trembling hands were lifted to cover his face. “I don’t know how much, so I just left the check blank an’ sent word you’d forgot the exact amount you owed. I--I reckon my bank’ll stand for a’ overdraft.”