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The Prodigal Judge by Vaughan Kester
page 33 of 508 (06%)

Bladen considered. He was not averse to making five hundred
dollars, but he was decidedly averse to letting slip any chance
to secure a larger sum. It flashed in upon him that Murrell had
uncovered the real purpose of his visit to North Carolina; his
interest in land had been merely a subterfuge.

"Well?" said Murrell.

"I'll have to think your proposition over," said Bladen.

The immediate result of this conversation was that within
twenty-four hours a man driving two horses hitched to a light
buggy arrived at Scratch Hill in quest of Bob Yancy, whom he
found at dinner and to whom he delivered a letter. Mr. Yancy was
profoundly impressed by the attention, for holding the letter at
arm's length, he said

"Well, sir, I've lived nigh on to forty years, but I never got a
piece of writing befo'--never, sir. People, if they was close
by, spoke to me, if at a distance they hollered, but none of 'em
ever wrote." After gazing at the written characters with
satisfaction Mr. Yancy made a taper of the letter and lit his
pipe, which he puffed meditatively. "Sonny, when you grow up you
must learn so you can send writings to yo' Uncle Bob fo' him to
light his pipe with."

"What was in the paper, Uncle Bob?" asked Hannibal.

"Writin'," said Mr. Yancy, and smoked.
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