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Updated: June 10, 2025
Thorndike had put even royalty frayed, impecunious royalty, on the lookout for a loan at its ease. The hood of the car was down, and the taste of the air, warmed by the sun, was grateful. It was at this time, a year before, that young Spear picked the spring flowers to take to his mother. A year from now where would young Spear be?
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.
On his shrewd, alert, Irish-American features was an expression of unnatural gloom. With a smile Mr. Thorndike observed that it was as little suited to the countenance of the young judge as was the robe to his shoulders. Mr. Thorndike was still smiling when young Andrews leaned over the rail. "Stand up!" he hissed. Mr. Thorndike stood up.
Thorndike began: "My engagements are not pressing, but " A court attendant beat with his palm upon the rail. "Sit down!" whispered Andrews. "The judge is coming." Mr. Thorndike sat down. The court attendant droned loudly words Mr. Thorndike could not distinguish. There was a rustle of silk, and from a door behind him the judge stalked past. He was a young man, the type of the Tammany politician.
Young Andrews sprang to his feet, and, with the force of a hose flushing a gutter, swept his soiled visitors into the hall. "Come on," he called to the Wisest Man, "the court is open." In the corridors were many people, and with his eyes on the broad shoulders of the assistant district attorney, Thorndike pushed his way through them.
Now he turned upon his visitors. A Levantine, burly, unshaven, and soiled, towered truculently above him. Young Mr. Andrews with his swivel chair tilted back, his hands clasped behind his head, his cigarette hanging from his lips, regarded the man dispassionately. "You gotta hell of a nerve to come to see me," he commented cheerfully. To Mr. Thorndike, the form of greeting was novel.
"He has some dishonest scheme in his head, I have no doubt. Have you a bank in Milford?" "Yes." "He may have some design upon that." "He is very intimate with our bookkeeper, so his nephew tells me." Mr. Thorndike looked startled. "Ha! I scent danger to my friend, Mr. Jennings. He ought to be apprised." "He shall be, sir," said Carl, firmly. "Will you see him to-night?"
But the fact of his identity did not cause the frown to relax or the rebuke to halt unuttered. In even, icy tones the judge continued: "And it is well they should remember that the law is no respecter of persons and that the dignity of this court will be enforced, no matter who the offender may happen to be." Andrews slipped into the chair beside Mr. Thorndike, and grinned sympathetically.
Everybody does." "It's a curious kind of lonesomeness; but, all right, I will." "Thorndike, isn't that Plug you're riding an assert of the scrap you and Buffalo Bill had with the late Blake Haskins and his pal a few months back?" "Yes, this is Mongrel and not a half-bad horse, either." "I've noticed he keeps up his lick first-rate. Say isn't it a gaudy morning?" "Right you are!"
When its turn came, the private secretary, somewhat apologetically, laid the letter in front of the Wisest Man in Wall Street. "From Mrs. Austin, probation officer, Court of General Sessions," he explained. "Wants a letter about Spear. He's been convicted of theft. Comes up for sentence Tuesday." "Spear?" repeated Arnold Thorndike.
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