Many people were waiting to shake hands with Joe and congratulate him.  The trio, taking advantage of seats near the rail, had already done that (somewhat uproariously) before he had followed Happy, and so had Ariel and Ladew, both, necessarily, rather hurriedly.  But in the corridors he found, when he came out of the anteroom, clients, acquaintances, friends:  old friends, new friends, and friends he had never seen before —­everybody beaming upon him and wringing his hand, as if they had been sure of it all from the start.

“Know him?” said one to another.  “Why, I’ve knowed him sence he was that high!  Smart little feller he was, too!” This was a total stranger.

“I said, years ago”—­thus Mr. Brown, the “National House” clerk, proving his prophetic vision —­“that he’d turn out to be a big man some day.”

They gathered round him if he stopped for an instant, and crowded after him admiringly when he went on again, making his progress slow.  When he finally came out of the big doors into the sunshine, there were as many people in the yard as there had been when he stood in the same place and watched the mob rushing his client’s guards.  But to-day their temper was different, and as he paused a moment, looking down on the upturned, laughing faces, with a hundred jocular and congratulatory salutations shouted up at him, somebody started a cheer, and it was taken up with thunderous good-will.

There followed the interrogation customary in such emergencies, and the anxious inquirer was informed by four or five hundred people simultaneously that Joe Louden was all right.

“Head him off!” bellowed Mike Sheehan, suddenly darting up the steps.  The shout increased, and with good reason, for he stepped quickly back within the doors; and, retreating through the building, made good his escape by a basement door.

He struck off into a long detour, but though he managed to evade the crowd, he had to stop and shake hands with every third person he met.  As he came out upon Main Street again, he encountered his father.

“Howdy do, Joe?” said this laconic person, and offered his hand.  They shook, briefly.  “Well,” he continued, rubbing his beard, “how are ye?”

“All right, father, I think.”

“Satisfied with the verdict?”

“I’d be pretty hard to please if I weren’t,” Joe laughed.

Mr. Louden rubbed his beard again.  “I was there,” he said, without emotion.

“At the trial, you mean?”

“Yes.”  He offered his hand once more, and again they shook.  “Well, come around and see us,” he said.

“Thank you.  I will.”

“Well,” said Mr. Louden, “good-day, Joe.”

“Good-day, father.”

The young man stood looking after him with a curious smile.  Then he gave a slight start.  Far up the street he saw two figures, one a lady’s, in white, with a wide white hat; the other a man’s, wearing recognizably clerical black.  They seemed to be walking very slowly.