“You’re too late!” he blurted out.  “We’re done up.  Hawk’s petition has been granted and the road is in the hands of a receiver.”

Kent dashed his fist upon the stair-rail.

“Who is the man?” he demanded.

“Major Jim Guilford,” said Hunnicott.  Then, as footfalls coming stairward were heard in the upper corridor, he locked arms with Kent, faced him about and thrust him out over the door-stone.  “Let’s get out of this.  You look as if you might kill somebody.”

XI

THE LAST DITCH

It was a mark of the later and larger development of David Kent that he was able to keep his head in the moment of catastrophes.  In boyhood his hair had been a brick-dust red, and having the temperament which belongs of right to the auburn-hued, his first impulse was to face about and make a personal matter of the legal robbery with Judge MacFarlane.

Happily for all concerned, Hunnicott’s better counsels prevailed, and when the anger fit passed Kent found himself growing cool and determined.  Hunnicott was crestfallen and disposed to be apologetic; but Kent did him justice.

“Don’t blame yourself:  there was nothing else you could have done.  Have you a stenographer in your office?”

“Yes.”

“A good one?”

“It’s young Perkins:  you know him.”

“He’ll do.  ’Phone him to run down to the station and get what telegrams there are for me, and we’ll talk as we go.”

Once free of the Court House, Kent began a rapid-fire of questions.

“Where is Judge MacFarlane stopping?”

“At the Mid-Continent.”

“Have you any idea when he intends leaving town?”

“No; but he will probably take the first train.  He never stays here an hour longer than he has to after adjournment.”

“That would be the Flyer east at six o’clock.  Is he going east?”

“Come to think of it, I believe he is.  Somebody said he was going to Hot Springs.  He’s in miserable health.”

Kent saw more possibilities, and worse, and quickened his pace a little.

“I hope your young man won’t let the grass grow under his feet,” he said.  “The minutes between now and six o’clock are worth days to us.”

“What do we do?” asked Hunnicott, willing to take a little lesson in practice as he ran.

“The affidavits I have brought with me and the telegrams which are waiting at the station must convince MacFarlane that he has made a mistake.  We shall prepare a motion for the discharge of the receiver and for the vacation of the order appointing him, and ask the judge to set an early day for the hearing on the merits of the case.  He can’t refuse.”

Hunnicott shook his head.

“It has been all cut and dried from ’way back,” he objected.  “They won’t let you upset it at the last moment.”

“We’ll give them a run for their money,” said Kent.  “A good bit of it depends upon Perkins’ speed as a stenographer.”