“I referred to the gathering in its social aspect, Solomon,” explained the judge; “the illiberal spirit that prevailed, which, I observe, did not escape you.” “Skunks!” said Mahaffy. “Not a man present had the public spirit to set 'em up,” lamented the judge. “They drank in pairs, and I'd blistered my throat at their damn jail-raising! What sort of a fizzle would it have been if I hadn't been on hand to impart distinction to the occasion?” “I don't begrudge 'em their liquor,” said Mahaffy with acid dignity. “I do,” interrupted the judge. “I hope it's poison to 'em. “It will be in the long run, if it's any comfort to you to know it.” “It's no comfort, it's not near quick enough,” said the judge relentlessly. The sudden noisy clamor of many voices, highpitched and excited, floated out to them under the hot sky. “I wonder--” began the judge, and paused as he saw the crowd stream into the road before the tavern. Then a cloud of dust enveloped it, a cloud of dust that came from the trampling of many pairs of feet, and that swept toward them, thick and impenetrable, and no higher than a tall man's head in the lifeless air. “I wonder if we missed anything,” continued the judge, finishing what he had started to say. The score or more of men were quite near, and the judge and Mahaffy made out the tall figure of the sheriff in the lead. And then the crowd, very excited, very dusty, very noisy and very hot, flowed into the judge's front yard. For a brief moment that gentleman fancied Pleasantville had awakened to a fitting sense of its obligation to him and that it was about to make amends for its churlish lack of hospitality. He rose from his chair, and with a splendid florid gesture, swept off his hat. “It's the pussy fellow!” cried a voice. “Oh, shut up--don't you think I know him?” retorted the sheriff tartly. “Gentlemen--” began the judge blandly. “Get the well-rope!” The judge was rather at loss properly to interpret these varied remarks. He was not long left in doubt. The sheriff stepped to his side and dropped a heavy hand on his shoulder. “Mr. Slocum Price, or whatever your name is, your little game is up!” “Get the well-rope! Oh, hell--won't some one get the well-rope?” The voice rose into a wail of entreaty. The judge's eyes, rather startled, slid around in their sockets. Clearly something was wrong--but what--what? “Ain't he bold?” it was a woman's voice this time, and the fat landlady, her curls awry and her plump breast heaving tumultuously, gained a place in the forefront of the crowd. “Dear madam, this is an unexpected pleasure!” said the judge, with his hand upon his heart. “Don't you make your wicked old sheep's eyes at me, you brazen thing!” cried the lady. “You're wanted,” said the sheriff grimly, still keeping his hand on the judge's shoulder. “For what?” demanded the judge thickly. The sheriff had no time in which to answer. “I want my money!” shrieked the landlady.