The Case and Exceptions Part 8

"The man read the papers slowly, thoughtfully inserted the date and blotted the ink. Then he signed the Sheriff's name by his own and handed the papers to Holcomb.

"'There ain't no fees in this case,' he said, as he pushed the fifty-cent piece toward the lawyer.

"'I think you are mistaken. There is the statutory fee on 'entering execution.'

"'There weren't nothing done in this case.'

"'No?'

"'No.'

"'Thank you.'

"Holcomb entered the proper order and returned to his client.

"'How did you do it, Barney?' he asked.

"'How did I do it, Sir?'

"'Yes.'

"'I didn't do anything.'

"'But why was it matters went so smoothly to-day? You must have used some influence.'

"'No, Sir,--that is--well,--I think the Leader saw me at Tuesday's meeting, Sir.'"

Young Hudson was the first to break the silence which followed Norris'

recital.

"I've always said," he began, "that some of the most annoying things in practice come from the obstinacy of clients. Now I had a case----"

"If a man wants to get blackmailed," interrupted Harlow, "there's no law in the land to prevent or protect him."

"I guess Holcomb put on too much 'side' with that deputy," commented Truslow. "Those fellows are easy enough to handle if you only go about it in the right way. Now I had occasion one time to need----"

"I don't believe any Sheriff would make such a break as to call down a deputy without inquiring about the inside facts," interrupted Patton.

"You take my word for it, Norris, there's something wrong with that story."

Norris looked straight at the speaker.

"You're right," he answered, "there is something wrong with that story."

"I knew there was. What?"

"The dates and the names. It happened yesterday and I was the lawyer. I told it to you men because you're Members of the Bar, interested in the administration of justice and the maintenance of law. I'm glad I did so, if only to learn we're so accustomed to such things nowadays that we see nothing in them but the obstinacy of clients and the need of jollying petty officials. Isn't it a pretty commentary that the only doubt cast upon the truth of this story is that the Sheriff should have failed to inform himself of the conspiracy? Such things are going on every day and we wink at them if we don't actually aid and abet them to facilitate our private business. A fearful tyranny sways this whole city, clutching or shadowing the tenements, brutalising the prisons, frustrating the laws--wasting the treasury--corrupting the courts--and we not only suffer it, but we tolerate the men of education who a.s.sociate themselves with such work--allow them to be members of our clubs and degrade ourselves until----"

"Say--old man--hire a hall for next Tuesday evening and I'll take a ticket. Honest I will. But I've got to leave you now and get back to work."

Lawton rose and smiled good-naturedly at Norris, whose crimsoned face bespoke repentance of his sudden outburst.

The other members followed Lawton's example, and soon there was no one left in the room except Norris and "Silent" Bancroft.

For some moments neither man spoke. Then Bancroft rose and rolling his cigar between his fingers thoughtfully studied its glowing ashes.

"Say, Norris," he began slowly, "do you--do you attend primaries?"

"Er--no."

"Um,--I thought not," remarked the old gentleman as he walked toward the door.

THE BURDEN OF PROOF.

I.

It had been snowing ever since the Buffalo express left New York, but the Pullman car pa.s.sengers, comfortably housed, were no more conscious of the weather than they were of each other. When the train stopped unexpectedly at a flag station, the whispering of the snowflakes against the window-panes made itself heard, and the presence of the pa.s.sengers made itself felt. The car instantly became a room whose occupants discovered one another at the same moment, and sat staring into each other's faces with all the gloom of fellow-patients in a doctor's office. The silence was embarra.s.sing and absurd. A nervous pa.s.senger coughed to relieve the tension, and felt himself flushing under the concentrated attention of the entire company. A woman leaned forward to speak to her neighbour, but stopped as though conscious of some indecorum. Then everyone sat perfectly quiet, and the slow throb of the engine was the only sound from the frosty world outside.

At last the conductor opened the door, and the pa.s.sengers gazed at him as if they had never seen his like before. When he stamped the snow off his feet they watched him with a charmed intensity. When he spoke they started perceptibly.

--"Anybody named Glenning in this car?"

--"Yes--here."

All eyes centred on the speaker, a middle-aged, well-dressed, commonplace man occupying a corner chair.

--"A telegram for you, Sir."

Mr. Glenning slowly adjusted his gla.s.ses, peered at the address on the yellow envelope, took a penknife from his pocket and cut the flap with great deliberation.

The pa.s.sengers watched his face with the breathless interest of an audience viewing the climax of some mighty drama where every movement of the actors must be noted. But Mr. Glenning read the message without the slightest change of expression.

"If you want to send an answer you can do it. We wait here for a few minutes longer."

"I'll tell you in a moment."

Mr. Glenning took from his vest-pocket a small, red book with indexed margin, opened it about the middle, ran his finger down the edge, stopped toward the foot of the page and said:

"No answer. Any charge? No? Thank you."

The audience gave vent to its relief in a relaxing stir and rustle. Mr.

Glenning picked up his newspaper and began to read. The engine whistled two sharp warnings, the wheels slipped once or twice on the icy rails, the whispering of the snowflakes hushed and the inmates of the flying Pullman once more forgot each other.

When the train reached Albany the last pa.s.senger to leave the car picked up the telegram which Mr. Glenning had crumpled and thrown upon the floor. But his curiosity was only partly satisfied by reading: