"Damn the justice of the peace of every county," cried the old man, "and you included, Randolph! You never make an end of anything."
He gave no attention to Abner, who remained unembarrassed, regarding the impolite old man as one regards some strange, new, and particularly offensive beast.
"Chuck the whole business, Randolph, that's what I say," the irascible old man continued, "and forget about it. Who the devil cares? A drooling old paralytic is snuffed out. Well, he ought to have gone five and twenty years ago! He couldn't manage his estate and he kept me out. I was like to hang about until I rotted, while the creature played at Patience, propped up against the table and the wall. A nigger, on a search for shillings, knocks him on the head. Shall I hunt the nigger down and hang him? Damme! I would rather get him a patent of state lands!"
The face of Randolph was a study in expression.
"But, sir," he said, "there are some things about this affair that are peculiar—I may say extraordinarily peculiar."
Again the old man stood still. When he spoke his voice was in a lower note.
"And so," he said, "you have nosed out a new clew and got Abner over, and we are to have another inquisition."
He reflected, moving his stick idly before him. Then he went on in a petulant, persuasive tone.