on those of Mr.
Thorndike, the latter saw that the young judge had suddenly recognized
him. 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.

"Sorry!" he whispered. "Should have warned you. We won't be long now,"
he added encouragingly. "As soon as this fellow finishes his argument,
the judge'll take up the sentences. Your man seems to have other
friends; Isaacs & Sons are here, and the typewriter firm who taught him;
but what _you_ say will help most. It won't be more than a couple of
hours now."

"A couple of hours!" Mr. Thorndike raged inwardly. A couple of hours in
this place where he had been publicly humiliated. He smiled, a thin,
shark-like smile. Those who made it their business to study his
expressions, on seeing it, would have fled. Young Andrews, not being
acquainted with the moods of the great man, added cheerfully: "By one
o'clock, anyway."

Mr. Thorndike began grimly to pull on his gloves. For all he cared now
young Spear could go hang. Andrews nudged his elbow.

"See that old lady in the front row?" he whispered. "That's Mrs. Spear.
What did I tell you; mothers are all alike. She's not taken her eyes
off you since court opened. She knows you're her one best bet."

Impatiently Mr. Thorndike raised his head. He saw a little, white-haired
woman who stared at him. In her eyes was the same look he had seen in
the eyes of men who, at times of panic, fled to him, beseeching,
entreating, forcing upon him what was left of the wreck of their
fortunes, if only he would save their honor.

"And here come the prisoners," Andrews whispered. "See Spear? Third man
from the last." A long line, guarded in front and rear, shuffled into
the court-room, and, as ordered, ranged themselves against the wall.
Among them were old men and young boys, well dressed, clever-looking
rascals, collarless tramps, fierce-eyed aliens, smooth-shaven,
thin-lipped Broadwayards--and Spear.

Spear, his head hanging, with lips white and cheeks ashen, and his eyes
heavy with shame.

Mr. Thorndike had risen, and, in farewell, was holding out his hand to
Andrews. He turned, and across the court-room