The Prodigal Judge
CHAPTER IX
JUDGE SLOCUM PRICE
On that day Hannibal was haunted by the memory of what he had heard and seen
at Slosson's tavern. More than this, there was his terrible sense of loss, and
the grief he could not master, when his thin, little body was shaken by sobs.
Marking the course of the road westward, he clung to the woods, where his
movements were as stealthy as the very shadows themselves. He shunned the
scattered farms and the infrequent settlements, for the fear was strong with him
that he might be followed either by Murrell or Slosson. But as the dusk of
evening crept across the land, the great woods, now peopled by strange shadows,
sent him forth into the highroad. He was beginning to be very tired, and hunger
smote him with fierce pangs, but back of it all was his sense of bitter loss,
his desolation, and his loneliness.
"I couldn't forget Uncle Bob if I tried—" he told himself, with quivering
lips, as he limped wearily along the dusty road, and the tears welled up and
streaked his pinched face. Now before him he saw the scattered lights of a
settlement. All his terrors, the terrors that grouped themselves about the idea
of pursuit and capture, rushed back upon him, and in a panic he plunged into the
black woods again.
But the distant lights intensified his loneliness. He had lived a whole day
without food, a whole day without speech. He began to skirt the settlement,
keeping well within the thick gloom of the woods, and presently, as he stumbled
forward, he came to a small clearing in the center of which stood a log
dwelling. The place seemed deserted. There was no sign of life, no light shone
from the window, no smoke issued from the stick-and-mud chimney.
Tilted back in a chair by the door of this house a man was sleeping. The hoot
of an owl from a near-by oak roused him. He yawned and stretched himself,
thrusting out his fat legs and extending his great arms. Then becoming aware of
the small figure which had stolen up the path as he slept and now stood before
him in the uncertain light, he fell to rubbing his eyes with the knuckles of his
plump hands. The pale night mist out of the silent depths of the forest had
assumed shapes as strange.
"Who are you?" he demanded, and his voice rumbled thickly forth from his
capacious chest. The very sound was sleek and unctuous.
"I'm Hannibal," said the small figure. He was meditating flight; he glanced
over his shoulder toward the woods.
"No, you ain't. He's been dead a thousand years, more or less. Try again,"
recommended the man.
"I'm Hannibal Wayne Hazard," said the boy. The man quitted his chair.
"Well—I am glad to know you, Hannibal Wayne Hazard. I am Slocum Price—Judge
Slocum Price, sometime major-general of militia and ex-member of congress, to
mention a few of those honors my fellow countrymen have thrust upon me." He made
a sweeping gesture with his two hands outspread and bowed ponderously.
The boy saw a man of sixty, whose gross and battered visage told its own
story. There was a sparse white frost about his ears; and his eyes, pale blue
and prominent, looked out from under beetling brows. He wore a shabby
plum-colored coat and tight, drab breeches. About his fat neck was a black
stock, with just a suggestion of soiled linen showing above it. His figure was
corpulent and unwieldy.
The man saw a boy of perhaps ten, barefoot, and clothed in homespun shirt and
trousers. On his head was a ruinous hat much too large for him, but which in
some mysterious manner he contrived to keep from quite engulfing his small
features, which were swollen and tear-stained. In his right hand he carried a
bundle, while his left clutched the brown barrel of a long rifle.
"You don't belong in these parts, do you?" asked the judge, when he had
completed his scrutiny.
"No, sir," answered the boy. He glanced off down the road, where lights were
visible among the trees. "What town is that?" he added.
"Pleasantville—which is a lie—but I am neither sufficiently drunk nor
sufficiently sober to cope with the possibilities your question offers. It is a
task one should approach only after extraordinary preparation," and the sometime
major-general of militia grinned benevolently.
"It's a town, ain't it?" asked Hannibal doubtfully. He scarcely understood
this large, smiling gentleman who was so civilly given to speech with him, yet
strangely enough he was not afraid of him, and his whole soul craved human
companionship.
"It's got a name—but you'll excuse me, I'd much prefer not to tell you how I
regard it—you're too young to hear. But stop a bit—have you so much as fifty
cents about you?" and the judge's eyes narrowed to a slit above their folds of
puffy flesh. Hannibal, keeping his glance fixed on the man's face, fell back a
step. "I can't let you go if you are penniless—I can't do that!" cried the
judge, with sudden vehemence. "You shall be my guest for the night. They're a
pack of thieves at the tavern," he lowered his voice. "I know 'em, for they've
plucked me!" To make sure of his prey, he rested a fat hand on the boy's
shoulder and drew him gently but firmly into the shanty. As they crossed the
threshold he kicked the door shut, then with flint and steel he made a light,
and presently a candle was sputtering in his hands. He fitted it into the neck
of a tall bottle, and as the light flared up the boy glanced about him.
The interior was mean enough, with its rough walls, dirt floor and black,
cavernous fireplace. A rude clapboard table did duty as a desk, a fact made
plain by a horn ink-well, a notary's seal, and a rack with a half-dozen quill
pens. Above the desk was a shelf of books in worn calf bindings, and before it a
rickety chair. A shakedown bed in one corner of the room was tastefully screened
from the public gaze by a tattered quilt.
"Boy, don't be afraid. Look on me as a friend," urged the judge, who towered
above him in the dim candle-light. "Here's comfort without ostentation. Don't
tell me you prefer the tavern, with its corrupt associations!" Hannibal was
silent, and the judge, after a brief moment of irresolution, threw open the
door. Then he bent toward the small stranger, bringing his face close to the
child's, while his thick lips wreathed themselves in a smile ingratiatingly
genial. "You can't look me squarely in the eye and say you prefer the tavern to
these scholarly surroundings?" he said banteringly.
"I reckon I'll be glad to stop," answered Hannibal. The judge clapped him
playfully on the back.
"Such confidence is inspiring! Make yourself perfectly at home. Are you
hungry?"
"Yes, sir. I ain't had much to eat to-day," replied Hannibal cautiously.
"I can offer you food then. What do you say to cold fish?" the judge smacked
his lips to impart a relish to the idea. "I dare swear I can find you some corn
bread into the bargain. Tea I haven't got. On the advice of my physician, I
don't use it. What do you say—shall we light a fire and warm the fish?"
"I 'low I could eat it cold."
"No trouble in the world to start a fire. All we got to do is to go out, and
pull a few palings off the fence," urged the judge.
"It will do all right just like it is," said Hannibal.
"Very good, then!" cried the judge gaily, and he began to assemble the
dainties he had enumerated. "Here you are!" he cleared his throat impressively,
while benignity shone from every feature of his face. "A moment since you
allowed me to think that you were solvent to the extent of fifty cents—"
Hannibal looked puzzled. The judge dealt him a friendly blow on the back, then
stood off and regarded him with a glance of great jocularity, his plump knuckles
on his hips and his arms akimbo. "I wonder"—and his eyes assumed a speculative
squint "I wonder if you could be induced to make a temporary loan of that fifty
cents? The sum involved is really such a ridiculous trifle I don't need to point
out to you the absolute moral certainty of my returning it at an early date—say
to-morrow morning; say to-morrow afternoon at the latest; say even the day after
at the very outside. Meantime, you shall be my guest. The landlady's son has
found my notarial seal an admirable plaything—she has had to lick the little
devil twice for hooking it—my pens and stationery are at your disposal, should
you desire to communicate to absent friends; you can have the run of my
library!" the judge fairly trembled in his eagerness. It was not the loss of his
money that Hannibal most feared, and the coin passed from his possession into
his host's custody. As it dropped into the latter's great palm he was visibly
moved. His moist, blue eyes became yet more watery, while his battered old face
assumed an expression indicating deep inward satisfaction. "Thank you, my boy!
This is one of those intrinsically trifling benefits which, conferred at the
moment of acute need, touch the heart and tap the unfailing springs of human
gratitude—I must step down to the tavern—when I return, please God, we shall
know more of each other." While he was still speaking he had produced a jug from
behind the quilt that screened his bed, and now, bareheaded, and with every
indication of haste, took himself off into the night.
Left alone, Hannibal gravely seated himself at the table. What the judge's
larder lacked in variety it more than made up for in quantity, and the boy was
grateful for this fact. He was half famished, and the coarse, abundant food was
of the sort to which he was accustomed. Presently he heard the judge's heavy,
shuffling step as he came up the path from the road, and a moment later his
gross bulk of body filled the doorway. Breathing hard and perspiring, the judge
entered the shanty, but his eagerness, together with his shortness of breath,
kept him silent until he had established himself in his chair beside the table,
with the jug and a cracked glass at his elbow. Then, bland and smiling, he
turned toward his guest.
"Will you join me?" he asked.
"No, sir. Please, I'd rather not," said Hannibal.
"Do you mean that you don't like good liquor?" demanded the judge. "Not even
with sugar and a dash of water?—say, now, don't you like it that way, my boy?"
"I ain't learned to like it no ways," said Hannibal.
"You amaze me—well—well—the greater the joy to which you may reasonably
aspire. The splendid possibilities of youth are yours. My tenderest regards,
Hannibal!" and he nodded over the rim of the cracked glass his shaking hand had
carried to his lips. Twice the glass was filled and emptied, and then again, his
roving, watery eyes rested meditatively on the child, who sat very erect in his
chair, with his brown hands crossed in his lap. "Personally, I can drink or
not," explained the judge. "But I hope I am too much a man of the world to
indulge in any intemperate display of principle." He proved the first clause of
his proposition by again filling and emptying his glass. "Have you a father?" he
asked suddenly. Hannibal shook his head. "A mother?" demanded the judge.
"They both of them done died years and years ago," answered the boy. "I can't
tell you how long back it was, but I reckon I don't know much about it. I must
have been a small child."
"Ho—a small child!" cried the judge, laughing. He cocked his head on one side
and surveyed Hannibal Wayne Hazard with a glance of comic seriousness. "A small
child and in God's name what do you call yourself now? To hear you talk one
would think you had dabbled your feet in the Flood!"
"I'm most ten," said Hannibal, with dignity.
"I can well believe it," responded the judge. "And with this weight of years,
where did you come from and how did you get here?"
"From across the mountains."
"Alone?"
"No, sir. Mr. Yancy fetched me—part way." The boy's voice broke when he spoke
his Uncle Bob's name, and his eyes swam with tears, but the judge did not notice
this.
"And where are you going?"
"To West Tennessee."
"Have you any friends there?"
"Yes, sir."
"You've money enough to see you through?" and what the judge intended for a
smile of fatherly affection became a leer of infinite cunning.
"I got ten dollars."
"Ten dollars—" the judge smacked his lips once. "Ten dollars" he repeated,
and smacked his lips twice. There was a brief silence, in which he seemed to
give way to pleasant reveries.
From beyond the open door of the shanty came a multitude of night sounds. The
moon had risen, and what had been a dusty country road was now a streak of
silver in the hot light. The purple flush on the judge's face, where the dignity
that belonged to age had gone down in wreck, deepened. The sparse, white frost
above his ears was damp with sweat. He removed his stock, opened his shirt at
the neck, and cast aside his coat; then he lighted a blackened pipe, filled his
glass, and sank back in his chair. The long hours of darkness were all before
him, and his senses clothed themselves in rich content. Once more his glance
rested on the boy. Here, indeed, was a guest of whom one might make much and not
err—he felt all the benevolence of his nature flow toward him. Ten dollars!
"Certainly the tavern would have been no place for you! Well, thank God, it
wasn't necessary for you to go there. You are more than welcome here. I tell
you, when you know this place as I know it, you'll regard every living soul here
with suspicion. Keep 'em at arm's length!" he sank his voice to an impressive
whisper. "In particular, I warn you against a certain Solomon Mahaffy. You'll
see much of him; I haven't known how to rebuff the fellow without being rude—he
sticks to me like my shadow. He's profited by my charity and he admires my
conversation and affects my society, but don't tell him you have so much as a
rusty copper, for he will neither rest nor eat nor sleep until he's plucked
you—tell him nothing—leave him to me. I keep him—there—" the judge extended his
fat hands, "at arm's length. I say to him metaphorically speaking—'so close, but
no closer. I'll visit you when sick, I'll pray with you when dying, I'll chat
with you, I'll eat with you, I'll smoke with you, and if need be, I'll drink
with you—but be your intimate? Never! Why? Because be's a damned Yankee! These
are the inextinguishable feelings of a gentleman. I am aware they are out of
place in this age, but what's bred in the bone will show in the flesh. Who says
it won't, is no gentleman himself and a liar as well! My place in the world was
determined two or three hundred years ago, and my ancestors spat on such cattle
as Mahaffy and they were flattered by the attention!" The judge, powerfully
excited by his denunciation of the unfortunate Mahaffy, quitted his chair and,
lurching somewhat as he did so, began to pace the floor.
"Take me for your example, boy! You may be poor, you may possibly be hungry
you'll often be thirsty, but through it all you will remain that splendid
thing—a gentleman! Lands, niggers, riches, luxury, I've had 'em all; I've sucked
the good of 'em; they've colored my blood, they've gone into the fiber of my
brain and body. Perhaps you'll contend that the old order is overthrown, that
family has gone to the devil? You are right, and there's the pity of it! Where
are the great names? A race of upstarts has taken their place—sons of
nobody—nephews of nobody—cousins of nobody—I observe only deterioration in the
trend of modern life. The social fabric is tottering—I can see it totter—" and
he tottered himself as he said this.
The boy had watched him out of wide eyes, as ponderous and unwieldy he
shuffled back and forth in the dim candlelight; now shaking his head and
muttering, the judge dropped into his chair.
"Well, I'm an old man-the spectacle won't long offend me. I'll die presently.
The Bench and Bar will review my services to the country, the militia will fire
a few volleys at my graveside, here and there a flag will be at half-mast, and
that will be the end—" He was so profoundly moved by the thought that he could
not go on. His voice broke, and he buried his face in his arms. A sympathetic
moisture had gathered in the child's eyes. He understood only a small part of
what his host was saying, but realized that it had to do with death, and he had
his own terrible acquaintance with death. He slipped from his chair and stole to
the judge's side, and that gentleman felt a cool hand rest lightly on his arm.
"What?" he said, glancing up.
"I'm mighty sorry you're going to die," said the boy softly.
"Bless you, Hannibal!" cried the judge, looking wonderfully cheerful, despite
his recent bitterness of spirit. "I'm not experiencing any of the pangs of
mortality now. My dissolution ain't a matter of to-night or to-morrow—there's
some life in Slocum Price yet, for all the rough usage, eh? I've had my fun—I
could tell you a thing or two about that, if you had hair on your chin!" and the
selfish lines of his face twisted themselves into an exceedingly knowing grin.
"You talked like you thought you were going to die right off," said Hannibal
gravely, as he resumed his chair. The judge was touched. It had been more years
than he cared to remember since he had launched a decent emotion in the breast
of any human being. For a moment he was silent, struck with a sense of shame;
then he said:
"You are sure you are not running away, Hannibal? I hope you know that boys
should always tell the truth—that hell has its own especial terrors for the boy
who lies? Now, if I thought the worst of you, I might esteem it my duty to
investigate your story." The judge laid a fat forefinger against the side of his
nose, and regarded him with drunken gravity. Hannibal shook with terror. This
was what he had feared. "That's one aspect of the case. Now, on the other hand,
I might draw up a legal instrument which could not fail to be of use to you on
your travois, and would stop all questions. As for my fee, it would be trifling,
when compared with the benefits I can see accruing to you."
"No, I ain't running away. I ain't got no one to run away from," said the boy
chokingly. He was showing signs of fatigue. His head drooped and he met the
judge's glance with tired, sleepy eyes. The latter looked at him and then said
suddenly:
"I think you'd better go to bed."
"I reckon I had," agreed Hannibal, slipping from his chair.
"Well, take my bed back of the quilt. You'll find a hoe there. You can dig up
the dirt under the shuck tick with it—which helps astonishingly. What would the
world say if it could know that judge Slocum Price makes his bed with a hoe!
There's Spartan hardihood!" but the boy, not knowing what was meant by Spartan
hardihood, remained silent. "Nearing threescore years and ten, the allotted span
as set down by the Psalmist—once man of fashion, soldier, statesman and
lawgiver—and makes his bed with a hoe! What a history!" muttered the judge with
weary melancholy, as one groping hand found the jug while the other found the
glass. There was a pause, while he profited by this fortunate chance. "Well,
take the bed," he resumed hospitably.
"I can sleep most anywhere. I ain't no ways particular," said Hannibal.
"I say, take the bed!" commanded the judge sternly. And Hannibal quickly
retired behind the quilt. "Do you find it comfortable?" the judge asked, when
the rustling of the shuck tick informed him that the child had lain down.
"Yes, sir," said the boy.
"Have you said your prayers?" inquired the judge.
"No, sir. I ain't said 'em yet."
"Well, say them now. Religion is as becoming in the young as it is
respectable in the aged. I'll not disturb you to-night, for it is God's will
that I should stay up and get very drunk."