The Judge Hunter

by Christopher Buckley

To Pepys’s astonishment, Downing was quite taken with Balty, even charmed. Pepys deciphered this as Downing thinking it would gall the New Haveners even more to be bossed about by a nincompoop.

“If a Quaker wants to commune with the Almighty or whoever the hell’s up there, he just plops his arse down wherever he is and closes his eyes and communes. And if the Almighty ain’t in the mood for communing, you get a fine snooze. Tell me if that ain’t an improvement on Sunday worship.”

“What are you doing?” Balty said. “Going to sleep.” “Sleep? Damn it, Huncks, they may hang us in the morning.” “All the more reason. Bad form, nodding off at your own hanging. Must make a show of being English.” “I don’t see how you can sleep.” “Well, I shuts me eyes, so. And says me prayers, like me old mum taught me. Our Father which art in dum de dum de dum de dum amen. And before you knows it . . .” Huncks began to snore, leaving Balty alone with his blank page and visions of Thankful.