stractions there than elsewhere. Before
long, in fact, he acquired the ability to doze placidly through almost
any sort of business conference in the outer office. It was his
practice to sleep from nine-thirty until eleven, when "Bob" fetched him
a glass of orange juice with a "spike" in it. This refreshing beverage
filled him with new energy to tackle the issues of the day, and
thereupon began a routine as fixed as some religious ritual. First, he
smacked his lips, then he cleared his throat loudly several times,
after which his chair creaked as he massaged his rheumatic leg.
Promptly upon the count of twenty he emerged from the inner office,
slamming the door energetically behind him.

Whether "Bob" was alone or engaged with clients, Old Tom's air was
always the same; it was that of a busy man weighted with grave
responsibilities. He frowned; he muttered, hurriedly:

"Got to see a man; back in an hour. Anybody calls, tell 'em to wait."

This took him to the front door, which he also slammed behind
him--there being a certain force and determination to the sound of a
slamming door. Then he limped down the street to Judge Halloran's
office. The judge usually had the checkerboard out and set when Tom
arrived.

Afternoons passed in much the same manner, and night found Tom, if not
actually exhausted from the unceasing grind, at least pleasurably
fatigued thereby and ready for an after-dinner doze. He considered
himself seriously overworked.

This morning "Bob" was alone at her desk when he came out, and
something about her appearance caused the old warrior to look twice. He
was exactly on time, but the judge could wait. He was a cranky old
scoundrel anyhow, was Judge Halloran, and it would do him good to cool
his heels for a few minutes. Tom paused with his hand upon the door
knob.

"My goodness! son, you're all dressed up!" he said, as he noted "Bob's"
crisp white dress, the rose upon her bosom, the floppy hat that framed
her face. "Church sociable som'er's?"

"No, dad."

"What's going on?"

"Nothing in particular."

"You certainly are sweet." Tom's bleak, gray face softened, then some
vague regret peered forth from his eyes. "Certainly are sweet, but--"

"But what?" The girl smiled up at him.

"Oh, I don't know--seems like you ain't quite the same boy you was.
You're changing lately, somehow. Getting more like your mother every
week. I like that, of course," he said, quickly, "but--I'd like awful
well to