disuse.  It was an uncomfortable sensation that left him restless because, as he appreciated, it needed expression, an outlet.  He found this, partially, in praising, through Andrews, the young judge who had publicly rebuked him.  Mr. Thorndike found him astute, sane; his queries intelligent, his comments just.  And this probation officer, she, too, was capable, was she not?  Smiling at his interest in what to him was an old story, the younger man nodded.

“I like her looks,” whispered the great man.  “Like her clear eyes and clean skin.  She strikes me as able, full of energy, and yet womanly.  These men when they come under her charge,” he insisted, eagerly, “need money to start again, don’t they?” He spoke anxiously.  He believed he had found the clew to his restlessness.  It was a desire to help; to be of use to these failures who had fallen and who were being lifted to their feet.  Andrews looked at him curiously.  “Anything you give her,” he answered, “would be well invested.”

“If you will tell me her name and address?” whispered the banker.  He was much given to charity, but it had been perfunctory, it was extended on the advice of his secretary.  In helping here, he felt a genial glow of personal pleasure.  It was much more satisfactory than giving an Old Master to his private chapel.

In the rear of the court-room there was a scuffle that caused every one to turn and look.  A man, who had tried to force his way past the tipstaffs, was being violently ejected, and, as he disappeared, he waved a paper toward Mr. Thorndike.  The banker recognized him as his chief clerk.  Andrews rose anxiously.  “That man wanted to get to you.  I’ll see what it is.  Maybe it’s important.”

Mr. Thorndike pulled him back.

“Maybe it is,” he said dryly.  “But I can’t see him now, I’m busy.”

* * * * *

Slowly the long line of derelicts, of birds of prey, of sorry, weak failures, passed before the seat of judgment.  Mr. Thorndike had moved into a chair nearer to the rail, and from time to time made a note upon the back of an envelope.  He had forgotten the time or had chosen to disregard it.  So great was his interest that he had forgotten the particular derelict he had come to serve, until Spear stood almost at his elbow.

Thorndike turned eagerly to the judge, and saw that he was listening to a rotund, gray little man with beady, bird-like eyes who, as he talked, bowed and gesticulated.  Behind him stood a younger man, a more modern edition of the other.  He also bowed and, behind gold eye-glasses, smiled ingratiatingly.

The judge nodded, and leaning forward, for a few moments fixed his eyes upon the prisoner.