He had never hated the sight
of Ricks so much as at that moment.
"It's Ricks Wilson," he whispered to the judge--"the boy I used to
peddle with. Don't be sending him to jail, sir. I'll--I'll go his bail
if you'll be letting him go."
"Indeed you won't!" thundered the judge. "You to take money you've
saved for your education to help this scoundrel, this rascal, this
half murderer!"
The crowd shouted its approval as it opened for the sheriff. Ricks was
not the kind to make it easy for his captors, and a lively skirmish
ensued.
As he was led away he turned to the crowd back of him and shook his
fist in the judge's face.
"You done this," he cried. "I'll git even with you, if I go to hell
fer it!"
The judge laughed contemptuously, but Sandy watched Ricks depart with
troubled eyes. He knew that he meant what he said.
CHAPTER XIV
A COUNCIL OF WAR
While the frivolous-minded of Clayton were bent upon the festivities
of fair week, it must not be imagined that the grave and thoughtful
contingent, which acts as ballast in every community, was idle.
Mr. Moseley was a self-constituted leader in a crusade against
dancing. At his earnest suggestion, every minister in town agreed to
preach upon the subject at prayer-meeting the Wednesday evening of the
hop.
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