adelphia patron, to whom Farrar made
but slight allusions. His very name--Farquhar Fenelon Cooke--had an odd
sound which somehow betokened an odd man, and there was more than
one bit of gossip afloat in the town of which he was the subject,
notwithstanding the fact that he had never honored it with a visit. The
gossip was the natural result of Mr. Cooke's large properties in the
vicinity. It has never been my habit, however, to press a friend on such
matters, and I could easily understand and respect Farrar's reluctance
to talk of one from whom he received an income.

I had occasion, in the May of that year, to make a somewhat long
business trip to Chicago, and on my return, much to my surprise, I
found Farrar awaiting me in the railroad station. He smiled his wonted
fraction by way of greeting, stopped to buy a newspaper, and finally
leading me to his buggy, turned and drove out of town. I was completely
mystified at such an unusual proceeding.

"What's this for?" I asked.

"I shan't bother you long," he said; "I simply wanted the chance to talk
to you before you got to your office. I have a Philadelphia client, a
Mr. Cooke, of whom you may have heard me speak. Since you have been away
the railroad has brought suit against him. The row is about the lands
west of the Washita, on Copper Rise. It's the devil if he loses, for the
ground is worth the dollar bills to cover it. I telegraphed, and he got
here yesterday. He wants a lawyer, and I mentioned you."

There came over me then in a flash a comprehension of Farrar which I had
failed to grasp before. But I was quite overcome at his suggestion.

"Isn't it rather a big deal to risk me on?" I said. "Better go to
Chicago and get Parks. He's an expert in that sort of thing." I am
afraid my expostulation was weak.

"I merely spoke of you," replied Farrar, coolly,--"and he has gone
around to your office. He knows about Parks, and if he wants him he'll
probably take him. It all depends upon how you strike Cooke whether you
get the case or not. I have never told you about him," he added with
some hesitation; "he's a trifle queer, but a good fellow at the bottom.
I should hate to see him lose his land."

"How is the railroad mixed up in it?" I asked.

"I don't know much about law, but it would seem as if they had a pretty
strong case," he answered. He went on to tell me what he knew of the
matter in his clean, pithy sentences, often brutally cynical, as though
he had not