The sheriff had brought the judge's supper. He reported that the crowd was dispersing, and that on the whole public sentiment was not particularly hostile; indeed, he went so far as to say there existed a strong undercurrent of satisfaction that the jail should have so speedily justified itself. Moreover, there was a disposition to exalt the judge as having furnished the crowning touch to the day's pleasure. “I reckon, sir, they'd have felt obliged to string you up if there wa'n't no jail,” continued the sheriff lazily from the open door where he had seated himself. “I don't say there ain't them who don't maintain you had ought to be strung up as it is, but people are funny, sir; the majority talk like they might wish to keep you here indefinite. There's no telling when we'll get another prisoner. Tomorrow the blacksmith will fix some iron bars to your window so folks can look in and see you. It will give a heap more air to the place--” “Unless I do get more air, you will not be troubled long by me!” declared the judge in a tone of melancholy conviction. The building was intolerably hot, the advantages of ventilation having been a thing the citizens of Pleasantville had overlooked. But the judge was a reasonable soul; he was disposed to accept his immediate personal discomfort with a fine true philosophy; also, hope was stirring in his heart. Hope was second nature with him, for had he not lived all these years with the odds against him? “You do sweat some, don't you? Oh, well, a man can stand a right smart suffering from heat like this and not die. It's the sun that's dangerous,” remarked the sheriff consolingly. “And you had ought to suffer, sir! that's what folks are sent to jail for,” he added. “You will kindly bear in mind, sir, that I have been convicted of no crime!” retorted the judge. “If you hadn't been so blamed particular you might have had company; politest darky you would meet anywhere. Well, sir, I didn't think the boss orator of the day would be the first prisoner--the joke certainly is on you!” “I never saw such bloody-minded ruffians! Keep them out and keep me in--all I ask is to vindicate myself in the eyes of the world,” said the judge. “Well,” began the sheriff severely, “ain't it enough to make 'em bloody-minded? Any one of 'em might have taken your money and got stuck. Just to think of that is what hets them up.” He regarded the judge with a glance of displeasure. “I hate to see a man so durn unreasonable in his p'int of view. And you picked a lady--a widow-lady--say, ain't you ashamed?” “Well, sir, what's going to happen to me?” demanded the judge angrily. “I reckon you'll be tried. I reckon the law will deal with you--that is, if the public remains ca'm. Maybe it will come to the conclusion that it'd prefer a lynching--people are funny.” He seemed to detach himself from the possible current of events. “And, waking and sleeping, I have that before me!” cried the judge bitterly.