The Judge sat gazing at the flames playing over his gas log.

“Who was the lawyer?” I asked.

“A man by the name of Krebs,” he replied.  “Never heard of him before.  He’s just moved to the city.”

“This city?” I ejaculated.

The Judge glanced at me interestedly.

“This city, of course.  What do you know about him?”

“Well,” I answered, when I had recovered a little from the shock—­for it was a distinct shock—­“he lived in Elkington.  He was the man who stirred up the trouble in the legislature about Bill 709.”

The Judge slapped his knee.

“That fellow!” he exclaimed, and ruminated.  “Why didn’t somebody tell me?” he added, complainingly.  “Why didn’t Miller Gorse let me know about it, instead of licking up a fuss after it’s all over?"...

Of all men of my acquaintance I had thought the Judge the last to grow maudlin over the misfortunes of those who were weak or unfortunate enough to be defeated and crushed in the struggle for existence, and it was not without food for reflection that I departed from his presence.  To make Mr. Bering “feel bad” was no small achievement, and Krebs had been responsible for it, of course,—­not Galligan.  Krebs had turned up once more!  It seemed as though he were destined to haunt me.  Well, I made up my mind that he should not disturb me again, at any rate:  I, at least, had learned to eliminate sentimentality from business, and it was not without deprecation I remembered my experience with him at the Capital, when he had made me temporarily ashamed of my connection with Bill 709.  I had got over that.  And when I entered the court room (the tribunal having graciously granted a rehearing on the ground that it had committed an error in the law!) my feelings were of lively curiosity and zest.  I had no disposition to underrate his abilities, but I was fortified by the consciousness of a series of triumphs behind me, by a sense of association with prevailing forces against which he was helpless.  I could afford to take a superior attitude in regard to one who was destined always to be dramatic.

As the case proceeded I was rather disappointed on the whole that he was not dramatic—­not even as dramatic as he had been when he defied the powers in the Legislature.  He had changed but little, he still wore ill-fitting clothes, but I was forced to acknowledge that he seemed to have gained in self-control, in presence.  He had nodded at me before the case was called, as he sat beside his maimed client; and I had been on the alert for a hint of reproach in his glance:  there was none.  I smiled back at him....