er; hasn't left her a cent;
and she comes to me for a pass, so she can kiss him through the bars!
And I'll bet she's got a cake for him in that basket!"

The mother laughed happily; she knew now she would get the pass.

"Mothers," explained Mr. Andrews, from the depth of his wisdom, "are
all like that; your mother, my mother. If you went to jail, your mother
would be just like that."

Mr. Thorndike bowed his head politely. He had never considered going
to jail, or whether, if he did, his mother would bring him cake in a
basket. Apparently there were many aspects and accidents of life not
included in his experience.

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. The people who blocked his progress were of the class
unknown to him. Their looks were anxious, furtive, miserable. They stood
in little groups, listening eagerly to a sharp-faced lawyer, or, in
sullen despair, eying each other. At a door a tipstaff laid his hand
roughly on the arm of Mr. Thorndike.

"That's all right, Joe," called young Mr. Andrews, "he's with ME." They
entered the court and passed down an aisle to a railed enclosure
in which were high oak chairs. Again, in his effort to follow, Mr.
Thorndike was halted, but the first tipstaff came to his rescue. "All
right," he signalled, "he's with Mr. Andrews."

Mr. Andrews pointed to one of the oak chairs. "You sit there," he
commanded, "it's reserved for members of the bar, but it's all right.
You're with ME."

Distinctly annoyed, slightly bewildered, the banker sank between the
arms of a chair. He felt he had lost his individuality. Andrews had
become his sponsor. Because of Andrews he was tolerated. Because Andrews
had a pull he was permitted to sit as an equal among police-court
lawyers. No longer was he Arnold Thorndike. He was merely the man "with
Mr. Andrews."

Then even Andrews abandoned him. "The judge'll be here in a minute,
now," said the assistant district attorney, and went inside a railed
enclosure in front of the judge's bench. There he greeted another
assistant district attorney whose years were those of even greater
indiscretion than the years of Mr. Andrews. Seated on the rail, with
their