people, too, about most drunken fools! He was a spender and a
profligate, was old Marshall Langham; a tavern loafer, but a man of
parts. Yes, he had a bit of a brain, when he was sober and of a mind to
use it."

One would scarcely have supposed that Archibald McBride, silent,
taciturn, money-loving, possessed the taste for scandal that North knew
he did possess. The old merchant continued garrulously.

"They are a bad lot, John, those Langhams, but it took the smartest one
of the whole tribe to get the better of me. I never told you that
before, did I? It was old Marshall himself, and he flattered me into
loaning him a matter of a hundred dollars once; I guess I have his note
somewhere yet. But I swore then I'd have no more dealings with any of
them, and I'm likely to keep my word as long as I keep my senses. It's
the little things that prick the skin; that make a man bitter. I suppose
the judge's boy has had his hand in your pocket? He looks like a man
who'd be free enough with another's purse."

But North shook his head.

"No, no, I have only myself to blame," he said.

"What do you hear of his wife? How's the marriage turning out?" and he
shot the young fellow a shrewd questioning glance.

"I know nothing about it," replied North, coloring slightly.

"She'll hardly be publishing to the world that she's married a drunken
profligate--"