ks had money in the old bank, an' we'd give up getting anything
more out the smash years ago. But if the Bolton place has actually
been sold--"

He finished with a prolonged whistle.

The greatness in the middle chair emitted a grunt.

"Humph!" he muttered, and again, "Hr-m-m-ph!"

"It would be surprising," conceded the middle-aged man, "after all
these years."

"Considerable many of th' creditors has died since," piped up a lean
youth who was smoking a very large cigar. "I s'pose th' children of
all such would come in for their share--eh, Judge?"

Judge Fulsom frowned and pursed his lips thoughtfully.

"The proceedings has not yet reached the point you mention, Henry,"
he said. "You're going a little too fast."

Nobody spoke, but the growing excitement took the form of a shuffling
of feet. The Judge deliberately lighted his pipe, a token of mental
relaxation. Then from out the haze of blue smoke, like the voice of
an oracle from the seclusion of a shrine, issued the familiar
recitative tone for which everybody had been waiting.

"Well, boys, I'll tell you how 'twas: Along about ten minutes of
twelve I had my hat on my head, and was just drawing on my linen
duster with the idea of going home to dinner, when I happened to look
out of my office window, and there was Deacon Whittle--and the girl,
just coming up th' steps. In five minutes more I'd have been gone,
most likely for the day."

"Gosh!" breathed the excitable young farmer.

The middle-aged man sternly motioned him to keep silence.

"I s'pose most of you boys saw her at the fair last night," proceeded
the Judge, ignoring the interruption. "She's a nice appearing young
female; but nobody'd think to look at her--"

He paused to ram down the tobacco in the glowing bowl of his pipe.

"Well, as I was saying, she'd been over to the Bolton house with the
Deacon. Guess we'll have to set the Deacon down for a right smart
real-estate boomer. We didn't none of us give him credit for it. He'd
got the girl all worked up to th' point of bein' afraid another
party'd be right along to buy the place. She wanted an option on it."

"Shucks!" again interrupted the young farmer disgustedly. "Them
options ain't no good. I had one once on five acres of timber, and--"

"Shut up, Lute!" came in low chorus from the spell-bound audience.

"Wanted an option," repeated Judge Fulsom loudly, "just till I could
fix up the paper. 'And, if you please,' said she, 'I'd like t' pa