ess of the political
representatives of his native land (it being granted they were of the
Republican party) might have appeared a touching thing to a more astute
and experienced person who had realised it to its limits. When he rubbed
his hair excitedly or sprang up to walk about, these manifestations were
indications, not of doubt or distrust, but of elated motion. It was the
emotional aspect of the situation which delighted and disturbed him, the
dramatic picturesqueness of it. Here was Tom--good old Tom--all Hamlin
knew Tom and his virtues and witticisms--Lord! there wasn't a man in the
county who didn't love him--yes, _love_ him. And here was Sheba that Tom
had been a father to. And what a handsome little creature she'd grown
into--and, but for Tom, the Lord knew what would have become of her. And
there was that story of the De Willoughbys of Delisleville--handsome,
aristocratic lot, among the biggest bugs in the State--the fine old Judge
with his thousands of acres lying uncultivated, and he paying his taxes
on them through sheer patriarchal pleasure in being a big landowner. For
years the Government had benefited by his tax-paying, while he had gained
nothing. And then there was the accidental discovery of the splendid
wealth hidden in the bowels of the earth--and the old aristocrat's energy
and enterprise. Why, if the war had not brought ruin to him and he had
carried out his plans, the whole State would have been the richer for his
mines. Capital would have been drawn in, labour would have been in
demand--things would have developed--outsiders would have bought
land--new discoveries would have been made--the wealth of the country's
resources would have opened up--the Government itself would have
benefited by the thing. And then the war had ruined all. And yet the old
Judge, overwhelmed with disaster as he was, had stood by the Government
and had been scorned and deserted, and had died broken-hearted at the
end, and here were his sole descendants--good old Tom and his little
beauty of a protegee--(no, Sheba wasn't a descendant, but somehow she
counted), and this fine young De Willoughby--all of them penniless. Why,
the justice of the thing stared a man in the face; a claim like that
_must_ go through.

At this juncture of his thought Judge Rutherford was standing upright in
the middle of his room. His hair was in high disorder and his countenance
flushed. He struck his right fist hard against the palm of his left