Harwood was busy filing papers when Mr. Fitch summoned him to his private room on the day indicated.  Fitch was short, thin, and bald, with a clipped reddish beard, brown eyes, and a turn-up nose.  He was considered a better lawyer than Wright, who was the orator of the firm, and its reliance in dealing with juries.  In the preparation of briefs and in oral arguments before the Supreme Court, Fitch was the superior.  His personal peculiarities had greatly Interested Harwood; as, for example, Fitch’s manner of locking himself in his room for days at a time while he was preparing to write a brief, denying himself to all visitors, and only occasionally calling for books from the library.  Then, when he had formulated his ideas, he summoned the stenographer and dictated at one sitting a brief that generally proved to be the reviewing court’s own judgment of the case in hand.  Some of Fitch’s fellow practitioners intimated at times that he was tricky.  In conferences with opposing counsel, one heard, he required watching, as he was wary of committing himself and it was difficult to discover what line of reasoning he elected to oppose or defend.  In such conferences it was his fashion to begin any statement that might seem even remotely to bind him with the remark, “I’m just thinking aloud on that proposition and don’t want to be bound by what I say.”  The students in the office, to whom he was unfailingly courteous, apostrophized him as “the fox.”  He called them all “Mister,” and occasionally flattered them by presenting a hypothetical case for their consideration.

Fitch was sitting before the immaculate desk he affected (no one ever dared leave anything on it in his absence) when Harwood entered.  The lawyer’s chair was an enormous piece of furniture in which his small figure seemed to shrink and hide.  His hands were thrust into his pockets, as they usually were, and he piped out “Good-Morning” in a high tenor voice.

“Shut the door, please, Mr. Harwood.  What have you to report about your errand to Montgomery?”

He indicated with a nod the one chair in the room and Harwood seated himself.

“I found Professor Kelton without difficulty and presented the letter.”

“You delivered the letter and you have told no one of your visit to Montgomery.”

“No one, sir; no one knows I have been away from town.  I handed the letter to the gentleman in his own house, alone, and he gave me his answer.”

“Well?”

“No is the answer.”

Fitch polished his eyeglasses with his handkerchief.  He scrutinized Harwood carefully for a moment, then asked:—­

“Did the gentleman—­whose name, by the way, you have forgotten—­”

“Yes, sir; I have quite forgotten it,” Harwood replied promptly.

“Did he show any feeling—­indignation, pique, as he read the letter?”

“No; but he read it carefully.  His face showed pain, I should say, sir, rather than indignation.  He gave his negative reply coldly—­a little sharply.  He was very courteous—­a gentleman, I should say, beyond any question.”