Lightnin'

"And you know that the railroad pays you more for that lease in a month than you agreed to give mother in a year?"

It was a surprise to Hammond, and evidently to Marvin, too, that Bill should know anything of the details of either the lease of the railroad company or of what payment had been promised to Mrs. Jones. A great light flashed on Marvin – obviously Bill Jones had not been altogether wasting his time during his prolonged disappearance! Hammond, beginning to suspect that Bill knew more than he had been given credit for, decided that ignorance was the best stand to take.

"How should I know the petty details of the railroad's lease?" he said.

"How should you know?" echoed Bill, his voice raised, unwontedly clear and ringing. "Didn't the railroad lease the waterfall from a bum concern called the Golden Gate Land Company? Didn't you, actin' for the Golden Gate Company, put through the deal? Don't you know that the Golden Gate Land Company is controlled by yourself and Raymond Thomas – ain't you and Thomas the whole works o' that – "

Thomas was on his feet with an objection, but the judge had no opportunity to overrule it, for Bill had something to say and he was going to say it. He lifted his voice above that of Thomas, calling out and waving his arms violently in an excitement he had never known before.

"And all your stocks in the name of rummies?"

His eyes twinkled as Marvin came up to him and whispered. Again waving his arms, Bill shouted:

"Dummies, I mean – dummies!"

Thomas had been tried to the point of despair. There was a lump in his throat as he beseeched the judge:

"I protest against this!"

The judge interrupted him. "I am beginning to believe in this plot story."

"Then let him go on," was Bill's agreeable reply.

Hammond jumped up out of his chair and descended from the witness-stand.

"Your Honor," he said, in an angry tone, "I absolutely refuse to submit to this any longer – to stand here and be made to look like a criminal!"

Bill could not withstand the chance for another quip and he smiled at his antagonist. "Well, you look natural," he remarked.

"Do you expect me to stand for this?" Hammond stormed.

"Sit down, if you want to," said Bill, restored to his old nonchalance. "I'm through with you," and he turned his back on Hammond and went over to Marvin.

Thomas, keyed to a high pitch, knew that something must be done at once, for he saw that not only the Jones case was crumbling, but he sensed trouble ahead in his afternoon's venture, so he resorted to Everett Hammond's tactics of placing the matter in an absurd light.

"All this ridiculous testimony," he argued, "has no possible connection with the case in point, but I propose to prove that all the accusations against the witness and myself are not only groundless but absolutely malicious, and I shall do this at the first opportunity."

Unable to stand the situation any longer, he went back and took his seat.

Marvin had sat quiet all through this controversy. Now he forgot the judge's admonition as to his place in the case. He got up, stating to the judge:

"Your Honor, Mr. Thomas will have that opportunity at two o'clock this afternoon, when the Pacific Railroad's action against me comes before the court. At that time I will submit documentary proof that these men control the Golden Gate Land Company and have been buying up all the land wanted by the Pacific Railroad. I will submit to the court twenty cases where the Golden Gate Land Company has swindled innocent farmers out of their property and paid them with worthless stock. I will prove to the court – "

"Just a moment, Mr. Marvin," Townsend stopped him. "It will be most interesting for you to prove your statements at two o'clock; but in the mean time I must warn you again that you are not a party to this divorce action and have no standing as an attorney in this court."

Marvin bowed to the ruling and retired quietly to his seat. He stared calmly at Thomas, seeming to have no fear that he had prematurely revealed his own case and that his opponents might have an opportunity to take advantage of his statements.

"If the defense wishes you for a witness, Mr. Marvin," said Townsend, "you may be sworn."

Bill was on his feet again and, turning to the judge, said: "I don't need no witness! I didn't know nothing about it at all until I got here, but I've been thinking it over ever since and I have made up my mind that mother's right. If mother can prove them things they read," and he nodded toward the clerk, "she could get a divorce, couldn't she?"

Townsend replied in the affirmative. Bill smiled sadly and, glancing at Mrs. Jones, who was crying as if her heart would break, he went on, "Well, I can prove them for her."

"You can prove them?" Townsend asked, in surprise.

"Oh yes," said Bill, with a flash of humor. "I used to be a judge."

He stood still in the middle of the floor and looked into space for a moment. He was a dejected figure as the humor that was his habit left him and he stood there deserted by all but Marvin. But it was not his way to remain an object of pity, either to himself or to anybody else, and with a slight shrug he straightened and looked the judge in the eye. Placing his hand in front of him, he tolled off the first count on the thumb of his right hand.

"Now, first it said," he began didactically, "that I got drunk," and he paused and thought about it, adding, with a nod, "Well, I can prove that! And then it said I was cruel to mother." He took a step forward and bent his shoulders a bit, as if he would look under the brim of his wife's hat and search her soul for the answer to his plea. "Well, I can – no, I can't prove that, 'cause it ain't true, judge, an' I don't believe mother ever said it."

A dramatic hush fell in the court-room. It was suddenly, pathetically clear to Marvin and to many others that, despite his unexpected knowledge on other counts, Bill did not fathom the real reason behind his wife's action for divorce. Plainly he thought she really wanted a divorce, and, in Lightnin's sensitive code, if mother wanted it she should have it.

"An' then it said that I failed to provide," he went on, while the court-room breathed softly, feeling the tug at the old man's heartstrings. "Well, that what's on my mind, judge. I have failed. I never thought anything about it before, and I don't see any chance of providing, now that I do think about it. Mother an' Millie could get along better without me. So you see, mother should get a divorce, judge – " and here Bill for the first time in his life broke down. Tears came into his eyes and he swallowed to keep them back. He hesitated and, with a last brave effort, he dashed in to complete his testimony against himself.

"I'm all right, judge. I can go back to the Home and stay there until" – he hesitated – "until – " and turning quickly away, "that's all, judge."

Before he could get to his seat Mrs. Jones had jumped up from hers and was standing before the judge's desk, wiping the tears from her eyes and sobbing loudly.

"No, please, judge, don't give me a divorce! I don't want one, judge! I can take care of Bill in our old age. They were just telling me lies, judge, and I was a fool not to have seen through it!"

Tears were in Townsend's eyes; also, Margaret Davis was sniffing audibly, and the spectators in the court-room were deeply touched. Thomas and Hammond gave one glance at each other and groaned, while Mrs. Jones rushed to Bill and held one of his hands in both of hers, pleading:

"Bill, I have done you a wrong – a great wrong, and I cannot blame you if you never look at me again, but I didn't mean to, Bill, I didn't mean to! And if you will forgive me and take me back I will try all my life to make up for it! Will you?"

Bill took her hands in his and patted them. His eyes were moist, and they blinked for a moment; then a slow, happy grin spread over his stubbled face.

"That's all right, mother," he said, easily. "Say, did you ever get the six dollars I sent you?"

CHAPTER XIX

Late that afternoon John Marvin and Bill Jones came out of the Reno court-house together and sauntered down the street. There was a gleam of triumph in Marvin's eyes and a deep satisfaction in his manner. Lightnin's grin was equally expressive.

"You better come right back to Calivada with me, John!" he urged.

The triumph left Marvin's eyes and was replaced by a troubled expression.

"No, Bill," he said, quietly, "I don't think it is time for me to go there yet. Mother and Millie may still feel that my part in the whole scheme was not as kindly as it might have been, so I'll just drive over to my cabin and maybe later, perhaps to-morrow morning, come over and join you for a visit of an hour or two. It's a long time, old chap," he said, as he patted Bill on the shoulder, "since you have been home, and I think it is about time you were running along."

Bill knew what was deterring him. Tactfully he said nothing, but smiled. They walked along in silence for a block or two, until in a jeweler's window Bill saw something that appealed to his imagination. He put his hand in his pocket and withdrew it before it touched bottom, realizing that his last dime had gone for a cup of coffee for himself and Zeb at a lunch-counter early that morning. Zeb was waiting for him at the G. A. R. Hall up the street a ways, but he had a duty to perform and it seemed to him that that duty could best be done by the help of the object in the jeweler's window.

"John, will you lend me two dollars?" he asked.

"At your old tricks, Lightnin'? You bet I can lend you two dollars! You sure that's all you want?" Marvin laughed, taking the money from his pocket.

"Plenty," was Bill's brief reply, pocketing the two dollars. They walked to the corner of the street, where they said good-by to each other.

When Bill was satisfied that Marvin's back was well turned he sauntered into the jewelry-shop and up to the counter, where he purchased a sterling-silver ring, washed in gold, with a bright, shining piece of glass set in it.