“But--jest as you was sayin', son, about David--it's been a good while since them parties flourished. When we look back on it, it stretches all the way frum here to B. C.; and that's a good long stretch, and a lot of things have been happenin' meantime. But I sometimes git to thinkin' that mebbe little Herman Felsburg has got some of that old-time Jew fightin' blood in his veins. Anyhow, he belongs to the same breed. No, sirree, sonny; it don't always pay to judge a man by his laigs. You kin do that with reguards to a frog or a grasshopper, or even sometimes with a chicken; but not with a man. It ain't the shape of 'em that counts--it's where they'll take you in time of trouble.” He cocked his head down at me--I saying nothing at all. There didn't seem to be anything for me to say; so I maintained silence and he spoke on: “You jest bear that in mind next time you feel moved to talk about laigs. And ef it should happen to be Mister Felsburg's laigs that you're takin' fur your text, remember this whut I'm tellin' you now: They may be crooked; but, son, there ain't no gamer pair of laigs nowheres in this world. I've seen 'em carry in' him into battle when, all the time, my knees was knockin' together, the same ez one of these here end men in a minstrel show knocks his bones together. His laigs may 'a' trembled a little bit too--I ain't sayin' they didn't--but they kept right on promenadin' him up to where the trouble was; and that's the main p'int with a set of shanks. You jest remember that.” Being sufficiently humbled I said I would remember it. “There's still another thing about Herman Felsburg's laigs that most people round here don't know, neither,” added Judge Priest when I had made my pledge: “All up and down the back sides of his calves, and clear down on his shins, there's a whole passel of little red marks. There's so many of them little scars that they look jest like lacework on his skin.” “Did he get them in the war?” I inquired eagerly, scenting a story. “No; he got them before the war came along,” said Judge Priest. “Some of these times, sonny, when you're a little bit older, I'll tell you a tale about them scars on Mr. Felsburg's laigs. There ain't many besides me that knows it.” “Couldn't I hear it now?” I asked. “I reckin you ain't a suitable age to understand--y it,” said Judge Priest. “I reckin we'd better wait a few years. But I won't for-git--I'll tell you when the time's ripe. Anyhow, there's somethin' else afoot now--somethin' that ought to interest a hongry boy.” I became aware of his house servant--Jeff Poindexter--standing in the hall doorway, waiting until his master concluded whatever he might be saying in order to make an important announcement.