nd of her
who had borne him, the sweet-browed woman whose image was in the
sacredest shrine of his heart.

Judson's advent was ill-timed, and his excessive lack of tact made the
matter worse.

"Mr. Baronet," he began pompously enough, "I must see you on a very
grave matter, very grave indeed."

Judge Baronet gave him a chair and sat down across the table from him to
listen. Judson had grated harshly on his mood, but he was a man of
poise.

"I'll be brief and blunt. That's what you lawyers want, ain't it?" The
little man giggled. "But I must advise this step at once as a necessary,
a very necessary one."

My father waited. Judson hadn't the penetration to feel embarrassed.

"You see it's like this. If you'll just keep still a minute I can show
you, though I ain't no lawyer; I'm a man of affairs, a commercialist, as
you would say. A producer maybe is a better term. In short, I'm a
money-maker."

My father smiled. "I see," he remarked. "I'll keep still. Go on."

"Well, now, I'm a widower that has provided handsome for my first wife's
remains. I've earned and paid for the right to forget her."

The great broad-shouldered, broad-minded man before the little boaster
looked down to hide his contempt.

"I've did my part handsome now, you'll admit; and being alone in the
world, with no one to enjoy my prosperity with me, I'm lonesome. That's
it, I'm lonesome. Ain't you sometimes?"

"Often," my father replied.

"Now I know'd it. We're in the same boat barring a great difference in
ages. Why, hang it, Judge, let's get married!" He giggled explosively
and so failed to see the stern face of the man before him.

"I want a young woman, a pretty girl, I've a right to a pretty girl, I
think. In fact, I want Marjory Whately. And what's more, I'm going to
have her. I've all but got the widder's consent now. She's under
considerable obligation to me."

Across John Baronet's mind there swept a picture of the Chattanooga
battle field. The roar of cannon, the smoke of rifles, the awful charge
on charge, around him. And in the very heart of it all, Irving Whately
wounded unto death, his hands grasping the Springvale flag, his voice
growing faint.

"You will look after them, John? Phil promised to take care of Marjie.
It makes this easier. I believe they will love each other, John. I hope
they may. When they do, give them my blessing. Good-bye." Across this
vision Judson's thin sharp voice was pouring out words.

"Now, Bar