infinite cunning.

"I got ten dollars."

"Ten dollars--" the judge smacked his lips once. "Ten dollars"
he repeated, and smacked his lips twice. There was a brief
silence, in which he seemed to give way to pleasant reveries.

From beyond the open door of the shanty came a multitude of night
sounds. The moon had risen, and what had been a dusty country
road was now a streak of silver in the hot light. The purple
flush on the judge's face, where the dignity that belonged to age
had gone down in wreck, deepened. The sparse, white frost above
his ears was damp with sweat. He removed his stock, opened his
shirt at the neck, and cast aside his coat; then he lighted a
blackened pipe, filled his glass, and sank back in his chair.
The long hours of darkness were all before him, and his senses
clothed themselves in rich content. Once more his glance rested
on the boy. Here, indeed, was a guest of whom one might make
much and not err--he felt all the benevolence of his nature flow
toward him. Ten dollars!

"Certainly the tavern would have been no place for you! Well,
thank God, it wasn't necessary for you to go there. You are more
than welcome here. I tell you, when you know this place as I
know it, you'll regard every living soul here with suspicion.
Keep 'em at arm's length!" he sank his voice to an impressive
whisper. "In particular, I warn you against a certain Solomon
Mahaffy. You'll see much of him; I haven't known how to rebuff
the fellow without being rude--he sticks to me like my shadow.