over one thin shoulder, he had
made the most of that daily entrance upon the stage of publicity.
There was always a haughty aloofness in his eyes that killed any word
of greeting upon the lips of these same beholders with whom, a few
hours later, he was to sit and wrangle in bitterest intimacy; a
certain brisk importance of step which was a palpable rebuke to their
purposeless unemployment.

Just once this haughty reserve had been assailed. It happened that
same first morning when Old Dave Shepard, white of head and womanishly
mild of voice, alike the circle's patriarch and most timid member, had
stepped forward and laid one unsteady hand upon his arm, some
embarrassed word of congratulation trembling on his lips. Old Jerry's
bearing upon that one occasion had precluded for all time the
possibility of its recurrence. He had stepped back a pace, out of
reach of those detaining fingers, and fastened the offender with a
stare of such baleful resentment that the latter drew off in pitiful
haste for self-effacement. And Jerry's words on that one occasion were
still current history.

"I warn you, Mister Shepard," he had shrilled, "that it's a state's
prison offense to interfere with a Gov'mint official in the
performance of his duty--and if you've got any complaints to make
they'll have to be set down reg'lar in writin', so's I can give 'em
due consideration!"

Dating from that day Old Jerry's daily appearance had taken on, at
least in the eyes of the Tavern regulars, a ceremonious importance
that demanded their personal attendance, and although it still lacked
a few moments of the hour for which they were waiting, a roll-call
would have found their number complete when the yellow-wheeled
buckboard of Boltonwood's most important citizen, with its strangely
assorted pair of passengers, flashed into view. Denny Bolton was
totally oblivious to the stir which their appearance created, but if
he was too engrossed with other things to be aware of the breathless
hush which followed it, the huge, moon-faced man who occupied the seat
of the buckboard with him was conscious of it all to a degree
sufficient for both.

From the moment when he had himself answered the summons at the front
door of his great, boxlike house on the hill, and found Young Denny
standing there, Judge Maynard had sensed a sensation. With unerring
judgment he read it in the very carriage of the big-shouldered boy
before him, who for the first time in his li