So Mr. Liakos started for the office of his sweetheart’s father, although not without inward trepidation.

It so happened that Mr. Mitrophanis was just receiving a consignment of coffee from the Custom House; carts were coming up one after another, porters were carrying the sacks into the warehouse, and the judge had difficulty in making his way to the door.

It was a huge square building, with a room on the street partitioned off at one corner.  This room was the office, and had a grated window; but the light from it and from the street door was too dim for Mr. Liakos to see what was going on inside the warehouse.  As he stood there on the threshold, he saw that his arrival was ill-timed; for there was a dispute in progress.  Although he did not understand, or even try to understand what it was all about, he heard hot words bandied back and forth, and above them he could distinguish the merchant’s voice, loud and masterful.

The judge stopped in surprise.  He had heard of the old gentleman’s temper, but had not imagined that anger could raise to such a pitch a voice usually so calm and dignified.  He was alarmed and was trying to slip away unseen, when Mr. Mitrophanis interrupted the discussion and called out to him from the depths of the warehouse: 

“What do you wish, Mr. Liakos?”

“I came to say a few words; but I see you’re engaged, and will come again some other time.”

“Pass into my office, and I will be with you in a moment.”

The judge stumbled over some coffee bags, and, making his way into the office, sat down by the merchant’s table in the only chair that was vacant.  The air was heavy with the odor of colonial merchandise.  The dispute began anew inside the warehouse, and the words, “weight,” “bags,” “Custom House,” were repeated over and over again.  Mr. Liakos sat listening to the noise, and tried to picture to himself the quiet old gentleman who had been out walking with his two daughters the night before.  At last the commotion quieted down, and Mr. Mitrophanis came in with a frown on his face.

“I have happened on an unlucky time for my call,” thought the judge.

“I suppose you come from Mr. Plateas,” began the old man, with a touch of irony in his tone.

“Yes; the fact is he has communicated to me the conversation he had with you this morning.”

“I must say, Mr. Liakos, that your anxiety to find a husband for my elder daughter seems to me rather marked.”

“I assure you, sir, that my friend’s proposal was wholly voluntary, and was in no wise prompted by me.”

The old gentleman smiled incredulously.

“My only regret is,” continued the judge, “that I allowed Mr. Plateas to discover my secret yesterday.  I protest I never had the least thought of urging him to this step; he has taken it of his own accord, and you do me wrong in supposing that I have acted from self-interest.”