He was still in this state of perplexity when Charlie Geary arrived, pounding on the door and opening it immediately afterward as was his custom.

“Hello!” said Vandover, surprised.  “Hello, Charlie! is that you?”

“Say,” exclaimed Geary without returning his greeting, holding up his hand as if to interrupt him; “say, have you seen your lawyer yet—­seen any lawyer?”

“No,” answered Vandover, shaking his head gravely; “no, I’ve only this minute read about it in the paper.”  He was glad that Geary had come; at once he felt a desire to throw this burden upon his chum’s shoulders, to let him assume the management of the affair, just as in the old college days he had willingly, weakly, submitted to the dictatorship of the shrewder, stronger man who smoothed out his difficulties for him, and extricated him from all his scrapes.  He knew Geary to be full of energy and resource, and he had confidence in his ability as a lawyer, even though he was so young in years and experience.  Besides this, he was his friend, his college chum; for all Geary’s disagreeable qualities he knew he would do the right thing by him now.

“You’re the one man of all others I wanted to see,” he exclaimed as he gripped his hand.  “By George!  I’m glad you have come.  Here, sit down and let’s talk this over.”  Geary took the big leather chair behind the desk, and Vandover flung himself again upon the window-seat.  It was as if the two were back in the room in Matthew’s; hundreds of times in those days they had occupied precisely these positions, Geary bending over at the study table, intent, nervous, very keen, Vandover lounging idly upon the window-seat, resting easily on his elbow listening to the other man’s advice.

“Now, what must I do, Charlie?” Vandover began.  “See my lawyer, I suppose?  But do you think a lawyer like Field would take my case?  You know I haven’t a leg to stand on.”

“But you haven’t seen him?” inquired Geary sharply.  “Haven’t seen anybody about it?” Vandover shook his head.  “Sure?” insisted Geary anxiously.

“Why, I have only just heard about it twenty minutes ago,” protested Vandover.  “Why are you so particular about that?” he added.  Then Geary exploded his mine.

“Because,” he said, with a smile of triumph that he could not restrain, “because we are the counsel for the other side.  I am on the case.”

Vandover bounded from the window-seat speechless with astonishment, bitterly disappointed. “You? he shouted.  Geary slowly nodded his head, enjoying Vandover’s bewilderment.  Vandover dropped back upon the cushions again, staring at him wildly with growing suspicion and anger.  He would not have thought it possible that Geary could so sacrifice their old friendship to his own personal interest.  The two continued staring at each other across the table for a moment.  In the silence they heard the long rumble of a cable-car passing the house, and the persistent jangling of its bell as it approached the street crossing.  A grocery wagon went up the side street, the horses’ hoofs making a cadenced clapping sound upon the asphalt.