an Sickle, who has had considerable training in
these matters. He's fairly reliable."

The entrance of Gen. Judson P. Van Sickle threw at the very outset a
suggestive light on the whole situation. The old soldier, over fifty,
had been a general of division during the Civil War, and had got his
real start in life by filing false titles to property in southern
Illinois, and then bringing suits to substantiate his fraudulent claims
before friendly associates. He was now a prosperous go-between,
requiring heavy retainers, and yet not over-prosperous. There was only
one kind of business that came to the General--this kind; and one
instinctively compared him to that decoy sheep at the stock-yards that
had been trained to go forth into nervous, frightened flocks of its
fellow-sheep, balking at being driven into the slaughtering-pens, and
lead them peacefully into the shambles, knowing enough always to make
his own way quietly to the rear during the onward progress and thus
escape. A dusty old lawyer, this, with Heaven knows what welter of
altered wills, broken promises, suborned juries, influenced judges,
bribed councilmen and legislators, double-intentioned agreements and
contracts, and a whole world of shifty legal calculations and false
pretenses floating around in his brain. Among the politicians, judges,
and lawyers generally, by reason of past useful services, he was
supposed to have some powerful connections. He liked to be called into
any case largely because it meant something to do and kept him from
being bored. When compelled to keep an appointment in winter, he would
slip on an old greatcoat of gray twill that he had worn until it was
shabby, then, taking down a soft felt hat, twisted and pulled out of
shape by use, he would pull it low over his dull gray eyes and amble
forth. In summer his clothes looked as crinkled as though he had slept
in them for weeks. He smoked. In cast of countenance he was not wholly
unlike General Grant, with a short gray beard and mustache which always
seemed more or less unkempt and hair that hung down over his forehead
in a gray mass. The poor General! He was neither very happy nor very
unhappy--a doubting Thomas without faith or hope in humanity and
without any particular affection for anybody.

"I'll tell you how it is with these small councils, Mr. Cowperwood,"
observed Van Sickle, sagely, after the preliminaries of the first
interview had been dispensed with.

"They're