“Unparalleled misfortune overtook me--I stepped aside, but the world never waits; I was a cog discarded from the mechanism of society--” He was so pleased with the metaphor that he repeated it. “Look here, Price, you talk as though you were a modern job; what's the matter anyhow?--have you got boils?” The judge froze into stony silence. Well, Mahaffy could sneer--he would show him! This was the last ditch and he proposed to descend into it, it was something to be able to demand the final word of fate--but he instantly recalled that he had been playing at hide-and-seek with inevitable consequences for something like a quarter of a century; it had been a triumph merely to exist. Mahaffy having eased his conscience, rolled over and promptly went to sleep. Flat on his back, the judge stared up at the wide blue arch of the heavens and rehearsed those promises which in the last twenty years he had made and broken times without number. He planned no sweeping reforms, his system of morality being little more than a series of graceful compromises with himself. He must not get hopelessly in debt; he must not get helplessly drunk. Dealing candidly with his own soul in the silence, he presently came to the belief that this might be done without special hardship. Then suddenly the rusted name-plate on Hannibal's old rifle danced again before his burning eyes, and a bitter sense of hurt and loss struck through him. He saw himself as he was, a shabby outcast, a tavern hanger-on, the utter travesty of all he should have been; he dropped his arm across his face. The first rift of light in the sky found the judge stirring; it found him in his usual cheerful frame of mind. He disposed of his toilet and breakfast with the greatest expedition. “Will you stroll into town with me, Solomon?” he asked, when they had eaten. Mahaffy shook his head, his air was still plainly hostile. “Then let your prayers follow me, for I'm off!” said the judge. Ten minutes' walk brought him to the door of the city tavern, where he found Mr. Pegloe directing the activities of a small colored boy who was mopping out his bar. To him the judge made known his needs. “Goin' to locate, are you?” said Mr. Pegloe. “My friends urge it, sir, and I have taken the matter under consideration,” answered the judge. “Sho, do you know any folks hereabouts?” asked Mr. Pegloe. “Not many,” said the judge, with reserve. “Well, the only empty house in town is right over yonder; it belongs to young Charley Norton out at Thicket Point Plantation.” “Ah-h!” said the judge.