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Updated: May 24, 2025
"I know of no one better fitted to offer an opinion on so delicate a point than just yourself, Mahaffy," said the judge, with a thick little ripple of laughter. But Solomon Mahaffy's long face did not relax in its set expression. "I saw your light," he explained, "but you seem to be raising first-rate hell all by yourself." "Oh, be reasonable, Solomon.
As the moments slipped by his sense of displeasure increased, with mankind in general, with himself, and with the judge principally with the judge who was to make a foolish target of himself in the morning. He was going to give the man who had wrecked his life a chance to take it as well. Mahaffy's cold logic dealt cynically with the preposterous situation his friend had created.
With the filling of Mahaffy's flask the important event of the day was past, and both knew it was likely to retain its preeminence for a terrible and indefinite period; a thought that enriched their thirst as it increased their gravity while they were traversing the stretch of dusty road that lay between the cavern and the judge's shanty.
"Speaking of posterity, which isn't present, Mr. Price, I'll say it is embarrassed by the attention," observed Mahaffy. There was a long silence between them. Mr. Mahaffy drank, and when he did not drink he bit his under lip and studied the judge. This was always distressing to the latter gentleman. Mahaffy's silence he could never penetrate.
For classical literature, the importance of a good general knowledge of which can hardly be overrated, J. P. Mahaffy's History of Greek Literature, two volumes, and G. A. Simcox's Latin Literature, two volumes, may be commended.
He and Mahaffy had met exactly one month before, on the deck of the steamer from which they had been put ashore at the river landing two miles from Pleasantville. Mahaffy's historic era had begun just there. Apparently he had no past of which he could be brought to speak.
Mahaffy seized him by the shoulders with lean muscular hands. "Pull!" cried the judge hoarsely. But Mahaffy's vigorous efforts failed to move him. "I guess you're stuck, Price!" "Get your wind, Solomon," urged the judge, "and then, if Hannibal will reach up and work about my middle with his knuckles while you pull, I may get through." But even this expedient failed.
I shall outline in writing the legal steps to be taken to substantiate his claims. Also he will inherit largely from me at my death." Something very like laughter escaped from Mahaffy's lips. "There you go, Solomon, with your inopportune mirth! What in God's name have I if I haven't hope? Take that from me and what would I be?
Do you reckon Pegloe has sufficient confidence to fill the jug again for us?" But Mahaffy's expression indicated no great confidence in Mr. Pegloe's confidence. "Credit," began the judge, "is proverbially shy; still it may sometimes be increased, like the muscles of the body and the mental faculties, by judicious use. I've always regarded Pegloe as a cheap mind.
He turned to Yancy and Hannibal, and added, "You will lay me beside him when I die." Then when the bitter struggle came and he was wrenched and tortured by longings, his strength was in remembering his promise to the dead man, and it was his custom to go out under the oaks and pace to and fro beside Mahaffy's grave until he had gained the mastery of himself.
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