"Sure enough; where'd she get it?" chimed in half a dozen voices at
once.
"She's Andrew Bolton's daughter," said the first speaker. "And she's
been setting up for a fine lady, doing stunts for charity. How about
our town hall an' our lov-elly library, an' our be-utiful drinking
fountain, and the new shingles on our church roof? You don't want to
ask too many questions, Lute."
"Don't I?" cried the man, who was eating hot dog. "You all know _me!_
I ain't a-going to stand for no grab-game. If she's got money, it's
more than likely the old fox salted it down before they ketched him.
It's our money; that's whose money 'tis, if you want to know!"
And he swallowed his mouthful with a slow, menacing glance which
swept the entire circle.
"Now, Lucius," began Judge Fulsom, removing the pipe from his mouth,
"go slow! No use in talk without proof."
"But what have you got to say, Jedge? Where'd she get all that money
she's been flamming about with, and that grand house, better than
new, with all the latest improvements. Wa'n't we some jays to be took
in like we was by a little, white-faced chit like her? Couldn't see
through a grindstone with a hole in it! Bolton House.... And an
automobile to fetch the old jailbird home in. Wa'n't it love-ly?"
A low growl ran around the circle.
"Durn you, Lute! Don't you see the Jedge has something to say?"
demanded the man behind the bar.
Judge Fulsom slowly tapped his pipe on the arm of his chair. "If you
all will keep still a second and let me speak," he began.
Pages:
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253