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His hair made a rich spot in the colourless atmosphere, and it seemed to focus the incoming light from the unshuttered window, leaving the background in denser shadow. The animation of his features jarred the serenity of the room. His profile showed gnome-like against the nodding heads of the microphylla roses. "There ain't nothin' in peanut-raisin'," he said suddenly; "I I'd ruther be a judge."
"Wall, I never!" ejaculated the elder Burr, but there was no surprise in his tone; it expressed rather the helplessness of paternity. The boy faced them, pressing more firmly against the bricks. "There ain't nothin' in peanut-raisin'," he said. "It's jest farmin' fur crows. I'd ruther be a judge." The judge laughed and turned from him. "Stick to the soil, my boy," he advised. "Stick to the soil.
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