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Judge Abner Parkinson defends his bill, quoting from the Constitution and the Declaration of Independence and the Bible; a celebrated lawyer from the capital riddles it, using the same authorities, and citing the Federalist and the Golden Rule in addition.
Parkinson had the story from one General Stone, and it was to this effect: A room was plastered at Mount Vernon on one occasion, and was paid for during the owner's absence. When Washington returned he examined the work and had it measured, as was his habit. It then appeared that an error had been made, and that fifteen shillings too much had been paid. Meantime the plasterer had died.
"Great Scott!" ejaculated Parkinson, running his eye over the returns. "You seem to have a mine there, all right!" "Sure thing! You'll think so when you see it," Whitcomb answered, fumbling in a grip at his feet. At sight of the specimens of ore which he produced a moment later, his two companions became nearly as enthusiastic as himself.
And as to the efficiency of this philanthropy, Canon Parkinson himself says that the poor are relieved much more by the poor than by the bourgeoisie; and such relief given by an honest proletarian who knows himself what it is to be hungry, for whom sharing his scanty meal is really a sacrifice, but a sacrifice borne with pleasure, such help has a wholly different ring to it from the carelessly-tossed alms of the luxurious bourgeois.
Only yesterday you turned Sir Edward from the door, and immediately after you admitted Parkinson the poet! What an insult to a gentleman to be turned from the door, and a strolling vagabond to be admitted before his eyes!"
At length a silence followed, then the door swung open, and three figures came down the illuminated path. "Like to make you acquainted with Jedge Abner Parkinson, Mr. Wetherell, and Jim Irving. Jim's the sheriff of Truro County, and I guess the jedge don't need any recommendation as a lawyer from me. You won't mind stayin' awhile with the jedge while Jim and I go down town with the team?
Slade stared at them bewildered. "Hold on," interposed Dr. Trendon authoritatively. "What's his name?" he inquired of the journalist. "Darrow," replied the latter. "Percy Darrow. Do you know him?" "Who in Kamschatka is Percy Darrow?" demanded Forsythe. "Why, he's the assistant." It's a long story " "Of course, it's a long story. There's a lot we want to know," interrupted Captain Parkinson.
"When did you meet one another, and where was it, Miss Parkinson?" inquired Matilda, rather to include herself in the conversation than from any devouring curiosity. Leander struck in hoarsely. "We met," he explained, "some time since, quite casual." Bella's eyes lit up with triumphant malice. "What!" she said, "do you call yesterday week such a long while? What a compliment that is, though!
"I remember hearing of old Parkinson but he's too far back for me." "A beautiful, pure, sweet, mellow English tenor," said Aunt Kate with enthusiasm. Gabriel having finished, the huge pudding was transferred to the table. The clatter of forks and spoons began again. Gabriel's wife served out spoonfuls of the pudding and passed the plates down the table.
Parkinson, it may be said, had been left in the hall. "Suppose I happen to forget it? How do we proceed?" "In that case I am afraid that I might have to trouble you to establish your identity," the manager explained. "It rarely happens." "Then we will say 'Conspiracy." The word was written down and the book closed. "Here is your key, sir. If you will allow me your key-ring "
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