It is one of the disciples, Judas, who protests indignantly against such waste.  This ointment would have brought at least seventy-five dollars, and how much such a sum would have done for the poor!  Thoughtless, improvident woman!  Strange the word didn’t blister on his canting lips.  John keenly sees that his fingers are clutching the treasure bag as he speaks the word, and that his thoughts are far from the poor.  Jesus gently rebukes Judas.  But Judas is hot tempered, and sullenly watches for the first chance to withdraw and carry out the damnable purpose that has been forming within.  He hurries over the hill, through the city gate, up to the palace of the chief priest.

Within there was a company of the inner clique of the leaders, discussing how to get hold of Jesus most easily.  They sit heavily in their seats, with shut fists, set jaws, and that peculiar yellow-green light spitting out from under their lowering, knit brows.  These bothersome crowds had to be considered.  The feast-day wouldn’t do.  The crowd would be greatest then, and hardest to handle.  Back and forth they brew their scheme.  Then a knock at the door.  Startled, they look alertly up to know who this intruder may be.  The door is opened.  In steps a man with a hangdog, guilty, but determined look.  It is one of the men they have seen with Jesus!  What can this mean?  He glances furtively from one to another.

Then he speaks:  “How much’ll you give if I get Jesus into your hands?” Of all things this was probably the last they had thought might happen.  Their eyes gleam.  How much indeed—­a good snug sum to get their fingers securely on his person.  But they’re shrewd bargainers.  That’s one of their specialties.  How much did he want?  Poor Judas!  He made a bad bargain that day.  Thirty pieces of silver!  He could easily have gotten a thousand.  Judas did love money greedily, and doubtless was a good bargainer too, but anger was in the saddle now, and drove him hard.  Without doubt it was in a hot fit of temper that he made this proposal.  His descendants have been coining money out of Jesus right along:  exchanging Him for gold.

Only a little later, and the Master is closeted with His inner circle in the upper room of a faithful friend’s house in one of the Jerusalem streets, for the Passover supper.  A word from Him and Judas withdraws for his dark errand.  Then those great heart-talks of Jesus, in the upper room, along the roadway, under the full moon, maybe passing by the massive temple structure, then under the olive trees.  Then the hour grows late, the disciples are drowsy, the Master is off alone among those trees, then weird uncertain lights of torches, a rabble of soldiers and priests, a man using friendship’s cloak, and friendship’s greeting—­then the King is in the hands of His enemies.  An awful night, followed by a yet more awful day, and the plan of the kingdom is broken by the tragic killing of the King.