"Heathen and devil!" he shouted, taking the money-lender by the throat,
"do you dare to mention her as part of your mortgage?"
They struggled together until a powerful pair of hands pinioned the
Judge, and bore him back to his bed. Samson Hat was the man.
"Judge!" he exclaimed, gentle, but firm, "you is a _good_ man, but
not as good as me. Cool off, Judge!"
"I expected this scene," said Meshach Milburn. "It could not have been
avoided. I was bound in conscience and in common-sense to make you the
only proposition which could save you from ruin. For, Judge Custis, you
are a ruined man!"
Overcome with excitement and suspended stimulation, the old Judge fell
back on his pillow and began to sob.
"Give him brandy," said Meshach Milburn, "here is the bottle! He needs
it now."
The wretched gentleman eagerly drank the proffered draught from the
negro's hands. His fury did not revive, and he covered his face with his
palms and moaned piteously.
"Judge Custis," remarked Meshach Milburn, "if the apparent social
distance between us could be lessened by any argument, I might make one.
For the difference is in appearance only. The healthy flesh which gives
you and yours stature and beauty is a matter of food alone. My stock has
survived five generations of such diet as has bent the spines of the
forest pigs and stunted the oxen. Money and family joy will give me
children comely again.
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