“Mr. Cavendish--” and again the judge glanced toward the knife. “Wait!” cried Hicks. “You go to Colonel Fentress.” “Let him up, Mr. Cavendish; that's all we want to mow,” said the judge. CHAPTER XXIX. COLONEL FENTRESS The judge had not forgotten his ghost, the ghost he had seen in Mr. Saul's office that day he went to the court-house on business for Charley Norton. Working or idling--principally the latter--drunk or sober--principally the former--the ghost, otherwise Colonel Fentress, had preserved a place in his thoughts, and now as he moved stolidly up the drive toward Fentress' big white house on the hill with Mahaffy, Cavendish, and Yancy trailing in his wake, memories of what had once been living and vital crowded in upon him. Some sense of the wreck that littered the long years, and the shame of the open shame that had swept away pride and self-respect, came back to him out of the past. He only paused when he stood on the portico before Fentress' open door. He glanced about him at the wide fields, bounded by the distant timber lands that hid gloomy bottoms, at the great log barns in the hollow to his right; at the huddle of whitewashed cabins beyond; then with his big fist he reached in and pounded on the door. The blows echoed loudly through the silent house, and an instant later Fentress' tall, spare figure was seen advancing from the far end of the hall. “Who is it?” he asked. “Judge Price--Colonel Fentress'' said the judge. “Judge Price,” uncertainly, and still advancing. “I had flattered myself that you must have heard of me,” said the judge. “I think I have,” said Fentress, pausing now. “He thinks he has!” muttered the judge under his breath. “Will you come in?” it was more a question than an invitation. “If you are at liberty.” The colonel bowed. “Allow me,” the judge continued. “Colonel Fentress--Mr. Mahaffy, Mr. Yancy and Mr. Cavendish.” Again the colonel bowed. “Will you step into the library?” “Very good,” and the judge followed the colonel briskly down the hall. When they entered the library Fentress turned and took stock of his guests. Mahaffy he had seen before; Yancy and Cavendish were of course strangers to him, but their appearance explained them; last of all his glance shifted to the judge. He had heard something of those activities by means of which Slocum Price had striven to distinguish himself, and he had a certain curiosity respecting the man. It was immediately satisfied. The judge had reached a degree of shabbiness seldom equaled, and but for his mellow, effulgent personality might well have passed for a common vagabond; and if his dress advertised the state of his finances, his face explained his habits. No misconception was possible about either.