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Updated: June 5, 2025
It was scarcely half an hour since Shrimplin had fallen speechless into Colonel Harbison's arms, yet fully two hundred men had gathered in that long room or were struggling about the door to gain admittance to it. At a suggestion from Harbison, the gambler, followed by Joe, elbowed his way to the front door, which in spite of the protest of those outside, he closed and locked.
"It's that disgustin' Joe!" interjected Mr. Shrimplin from his corner, advancing his hooked nose from the shadows. "Don't take up the judge's time, Nellie; time's money, and money's as infrequent as a white crow." And then suddenly and painfully conscious of his verbal forwardness, the little lamplighter sank back into the grateful gloom of his corner and was mute.
If any one wants to know how he looked just after he was killed, they got to come to me to find out. Colonel Harbison can't tell 'em, and Andy Gilmore can't tell 'em; it's only me knows them particulars!" The effect of this stirring declaration was quite all he had hoped for. Out of the tail of his eye he saw that Mrs. Shrimplin was, as she afterward freely confessed, taken aback.
Close on Shrimplin's heels came a jaded unkempt woman in a black dress, worn and mended. On seeing her the judge's cold scrutiny somewhat relaxed. "So it's you, Nellie?" he said, and motioned her to a chair opposite his own. Not knowing exactly what was expected of him, Mr. Shrimplin remained standing in the middle of the room, hat in hand.
It had grown steadily colder with the approach of night, and the wind had risen. The streets seemed deserted, and Mr. Shrimplin being as he was of a somewhat fanciful turn of mind, could almost imagine himself and Bill the only living things astir in all the town. He reached Water Street, the western boundary of that part of Mount Hope known as the flats.
"Well, don't you think they'd ought to, seeing that you was one of the witnesses, and found old Mr. McBride before anybody else did?" persisted the boy. "I won't say but what you might think they'd want me present; but Conklin ain't even suggested it, and if he don't think of it I can't say as I'll have any hard feelings," concluded Mr. Shrimplin magnanimously.
"But he might not care to respect the summons; there is no reason why he should," explained the judge. "If he knows you want to see him, he'll come here fast enough!" said Nellie. The judge turned to Shrimplin. "Will you tell him this, Shrimplin, the first time you see him?" "Won't I!" said the little lamplighter.
The storm rattled the shuttered windows above his head, the dingy sign creaked on its rusty fastenings, and with each fresh gust the bracketed lamps rocked gently to and fro, and as they rocked their trembling shadows slid back and forth along the walls. The very air of the place was inhospitable, forbidding, and Mr. Shrimplin was strongly inclined to close the door and beat a hasty retreat.
"Oh, come on hurry up!" "I don't know but I ought to see a doctor first " faltered Mr. Shrimplin in a hollow tone. Misery of soul twisted his weak face pathetically. "Why you act like you was afraid!" said Custer, with withering contempt. His words cut the elder Shrimplin like a knife; but they did not move him from his seat in the cart.
Something in Custer's manner warned him that any allusions of a jocular nature would prove highly distasteful to his son, and he followed silently as Custer led the way down to the brook. "Here's where he is!" said the boy halting. "You get down beside him you're strongest, and I'll stay here and help pull him up while you lift!" "That's the idea, son!" agreed Mr. Shrimplin genially.
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