* * * * *

The clock on the wall showed him that, already, he had given to young Spear one hour and a quarter.  The idea was preposterous.  No one better than himself knew what his time was really worth.  In half an hour there was a board meeting; later, he was to hold a post mortem on a railroad; at every moment questions were being asked by telegraph, by cable, questions that involved the credit of individuals, of firms, of even the country.  And the one man who could answer them was risking untold sums only that he might say a good word for an idle apprentice.  Inside the railed enclosure a lawyer was reading a typewritten speech.  He assured his honor that he must have more time to prepare his case.  It was one of immense importance.  The name of a most respectable business house was involved, and a sum of no less than nine hundred dollars.  Nine hundred dollars!  The contrast struck Mr. Thorndike’s sense of humor full in the centre.  Unknowingly, he laughed, and found himself as conspicuous as though he had appeared suddenly in his night-clothes.  The tipstaffs beat upon the rail, the lawyer he had interrupted uttered an indignant exclamation, Andrews came hurriedly toward him, and the young judge slowly turned his head.

“Those persons,” he said, “who cannot respect the dignity of this court will leave it.”  As he spoke, with his eyes fixed on those of Mr. Thorndike, the latter saw that the young judge had suddenly recognized him.  But the fact of his identity did not cause the frown to relax or the rebuke to halt unuttered.  In even, icy tones the judge continued:  “And it is well they should remember that the law is no respecter of persons and that the dignity of this court will be enforced, no matter who the offender may happen to be.”

Andrews slipped into the chair beside Mr. Thorndike, and grinned sympathetically.

“Sorry!” he whispered.  “Should have warned you.  We won’t be long now,” he added encouragingly.  “As soon as this fellow finishes his argument, the judge’ll take up the sentences.  Your man seems to have other friends; Isaacs & Sons are here, and the typewriter firm who taught him; but what you say will help most.  It won’t be more than a couple of hours now.”

“A couple of hours!” Mr. Thorndike raged inwardly.  A couple of hours in this place where he had been publicly humiliated.  He smiled, a thin, shark-like smile.  Those who made it their business to study his expressions, on seeing it, would have fled.  Young Andrews, not being acquainted with the moods of the great man, added cheerfully:  “By one o’clock, anyway.”

Mr. Thorndike began grimly to pull on his gloves.  For all he cared now young Spear could go hang.  Andrews nudged his elbow.

“See that old lady in the front row?” he whispered.  “That’s Mrs. Spear.  What did I tell you; mothers are all alike.  She’s not taken her eyes off you since court opened.  She knows you’re her one best bet.”