The Case and Exceptions Part 14

"Do you always sleep with your eyes open?"

"Ye--yes," he yawned, rubbing the optics in question, "it's a trick I learned from a front seat and a dull lecturer at college."

"Well, what are you doing here beside dreaming?"

"Waiting to get some papers from Van."

"Why don't you get them then, and go home to sleep?"

"Van's off his trolley to-day. Got to wait."

"Um.--'Furioso' on the Bench?"

"No.--Hot weather, I guess."

"Ah. Who's on deck then?"

"I don't know, and Van couldn't, or wouldn't, tell."

"Well, I was about to ask you to take charge of a little matter for me, but I'm afraid I oughtn't to keep you out of bed."

"What's it about?"

"Nothing but opposing an application for a bill of particulars. I don't care very much whether I win or lose. Merely contest it as a matter of form. You can submit it without argument, if you'd rather, but I've another case in Part IV., and can't wait here. Will you do it, you dormouse?"

"Yes--provided you won't d.a.m.n me if you lose."

"Don't care a cuss."

"All right."

"Thank you. Good-bye."

Martin glanced lazily at the papers Allison tossed into his lap.

_Phelps_ vs. _Orson_? What number was it on the calendar? He pulled the _Law Journal_ out of his pocket and consulted the list of "motions."

Twenty-second case? Good lord--Allison had buncoed him! If he argued that motion he'd have to stay in the stuffy Court Room all morning. But he wouldn't argue it--he'd give the papers to Van, and let him hand them up to the Court when the case was called. Martin stuffed the doc.u.ments into his pocket, and lolling back in his chair, tried to regain those scenes from which Allison had rudely torn him. To further this, he rested his head in his hand and closed his eyes. But try as he might, he could not again rid himself of his surroundings, for there was more movement all over the room as the waiting crowd grew restless, and directly back of him two men whispered with maddening persistency. For a time Martin tried to fuse their sibilants into the general buzz, but failing in this, began to listen to their conversation. In a few seconds he ceased to hear any of the other sounds going on about him.

--"Then Van doesn't know," one of the men a.s.serted. "I tell you Colton's ill and he's been a.s.signed to take his place. He's never sat here before? Well, of course not. That's just the point. You've got a head like a tack! Now listen to what I say, and, for G.o.d's sake, don't make a mess of it. The order's in a green cover like this----"

The speaker paused and Martin almost turned, but checked himself in time.

"No, there ain't many this colour.--You can't miss it if you keep awake.

It'll be handed to Van sometime before recess. When he gives it to His Nibs you watch it like a cat, and the minute he signs it make for the telephone and notify 'em at the office. They'll keep the wire open. Now d'ye think you've got sense enough to work this thing straight?"

The other man made no response, but probably nodded, for his companion continued:

"All right then. I'm o double f. But remember if you botch it, you'll be wanting a new job."

The speaker rose and pa.s.sed before Martin, who languidly glanced at him and then strolled into the Rotunda. Mullin the process-server stood, as usual, near the door. Martin touched his arm.

"Mullin," he began, "didn't you want to bet me a few days ago that you knew every man who entered this Court House?"

"Sure. Wanter take me up?"

"Yes," answered Martin, hurrying him toward the right hand stairway.

"Bet you a good cigar you won't know the man in grey clothes we'll see coming down from the other side."

They had just reached the first landing when the person in question pa.s.sed through the open hall below.

Mullin laughed.

"I'll take a 'Carolina Perfecto,'" he said and began to move up the steps again.

"Do you know him?" questioned Martin, slowly following.

"Sure. Everybody knows him. Give us something harder."

"Well, who is he?"

"Nevis--of course."

"Who's he?"

"Boss reporter of _The Guardian_."

"O, I thought he was a lawyer."

Martin spoke in a tone of disappointment.

"Nope. Too smart for that!" laughed the process-server.

"Well, I owe you a cigar, I suppose. We can't get a Carolina Perfecto here, but I'll see you when Court adjourns, or if not then, some other day."

"All right, Mr. Martin, your credit's good, I guess."

Nevis of _The Guardian_? What did that dirty sheet have to do with Court orders in green covers or any other covers? What sort of boys worked for such papers nowadays? Martin had himself served an apprenticeship in the newspaper world and still felt a lively interest in the ways of Park Row. He would have a look at the cub reporter left on guard. With this purpose in view he returned to the Court Room, but the moment he entered the door the object of his quest was completely forgotten. The judge had already ascended the Bench, and His Honour was Charles Blagden, Esq.

Martin slipped into a rear seat and watched the youthful face of the man behind the desk.

There was no love lost between Martin and the Hon. Charles Blagden. They had met as lawyers and Blagden had been the victor; they had met as men to differ on every matter of opinion and taste; they had met as rivals and Martin had written a letter of congratulation which had cost him the bitterest thoughts of his life. But Fortune continued to shower gifts upon her favourite and not very long after his marriage, an appointment to a vacancy on the Supreme Court Bench made Blagden the youngest Judge in the City.

Charles Blagden was a careful lawyer and he made a capable Judge--so capable, indeed, that his political party had just nominated him as its Judicial candidate for the coming November elections.

But not satisfied with the start which Fortune had thus given, the hero-worshippers set out to make Fame meet him half way.

What silly discoveries are made in the light of one small success; what senseless tributes are inspired by achievement--no matter what the agency. Blagden's capability as a lawyer became "distinguished ability"

on the tongues of hundreds of his fellow-citizens who never knew him.

There were dozens of prophets who had always "marked him out," and scores of men ready with stories and anecdotes of his prowess and skill.