thing
and speaking of another--"fetch him in here, Hiram."

"He's drippin' and drappin' like a leaky pail, sah," said Hiram, shaking
his cottony old head.

"No matter; he'll do no harm, Hiram."

Hiram brought the visitor in. The judge advanced to meet him.

The stranger's rubber coat glistened in the light, and the hat that he
carried in his hand trickled a little stream on the carpet as he crossed
the room. Old Hiram lingered at the door, holding his candle aloft.

The stranger stopped midway between Judge Maxwell and the door, as if
uncertain of his welcome, or conscious just at that moment of his
drenched and dripping state. He was a tall man and sparely built, and
his light-colored wet hair lay in little ringlets against his temples.
His mustache was short and stubby. His garments were splashed with mud,
as if he had come a long distance over rough roads. There was a haggard
and harried look in the man's eyes; he seemed at the highest pitch of
nervous tension. His lips were set in a grim line, as if he struggled to
hold something from utterance. His eyes were wide and wild.

"Judge Maxwell," he began, looking around him from side to side in quick
starts, "I must apologize to you for coming into your house in this
condition, and for this late call. But I'm here on important business; I
ask you to give me a few minutes of your time alone."

The judge nodded to Hiram, who closed the door after him.

"Take off that wet coat--give me your hat, and sit here," said the
judge, pulling a chair around to the fire.

The visitor drew off his rubber garment.

"Thank you, sir," said he. "My name is Morgan, and I've come over hell's
highway, as the man said, to get to Shelbyville tonight."

"Not Curtis Morgan?" said Judge Maxwell, lifting his eyes in startled
surprise, staying the stream of liquor that he was decanting into a
glass.

"Yes. You've heard my name before tonight, I see," the visitor said.

"Just so," replied the judge, in his studious way. "Drink this, unless
you have scruples?"

"It looks to me like a life-preserver to a drowning man," said Morgan,
with a glimmer of his every-day facetiousness. He drained the glass; the
judge motioned for him to sit down. Morgan did so, and stretched his wet
feet to the fire.

"I've got a story to tell you, Judge Maxwell," said he, again casting
his quick, almost fearful look around, "that will sound to you, maybe,
like a wild-eyed dream. But I want to tell you righ