The Light-Hearted

COURT was already in session when the Eldons returned from Europe; but the judge, while at once taking his place on the bench, preferred to spend a month at the north shore cottage, going in to the city in the morning and returning to the cottage at night. He was fond of the north shore, which still kept its summer green.

Dinner over, he laid his wife’s hand on his arm and led her to the veranda with a kind of familiar chivalry. She stood by as a matter of course while he pushed her chair to a better view of the lake and touched up the pillows.

He put his own chair on the other side of the door, lifted his neatly booted foot to the porch pillar, lit a cigar, and took in the smoke in calm luxury. The view included the neat lawn with its shrubbery, the white band of shore road, a bit of sand, and the expanse of lake, still as glass, and giving a pearly glow in the dying daylight. Lulling twilight smells of the woods and water spread up to them. The scene was full of a rich repose, and this suited the judge’s mood very well.

His fortune had reached a flood as full and rich as the hour. His affairs were in prosperous order. The six months abroad had greatly benefited his wife. She was now better than for ten years, and with good conditions a complete recovery was promised. His daughter’s engagement was in every way satisfactory. And the day before Hanford had telegraphed to her the single word, “Success.” This meant that the President had agreed to appoint Judge Eldon to the vacant place in the Supreme Court of the United States.

He was then fifty-two, hardly of medium height, and lean, with slightly stooping shoulders. His long face was smoothshaven, high-colored, and deeply wrinkled for one of his age. His nose was large, arched, and almost red, — a nose of power and dignity, which, with his bright blue eyes and large, half-bald head, gave the character of an urbane distinction that was one’s first impression of him. He smoked with deliberate luxury, and was content to let his mind swim with a happy idleness on the full tide of his fortune.

In a moment Anne came out, vigorously floating in her beruffled linen dress. She was a little taller than her father, and gracefully energetic. Her hair was sandy, and in a better light there were traces of freckles on her fair cheeks. She moved a rug briskly with her foot and sat down at the top of the wide stairs that led to the veranda, leaning against the pillar on which her father’s foot rested. The judge glanced down at her, his mellow and idling mind smiling approvingly.

She spoke as one who suddenly remembers something.

“Father, do you know of the case of a young man arrested, or indicted for some connection with a lottery,—a young man named Edward Bunner?”

At the name a shadow fell upon the judge’s smiling fortune. “No,” he said quickly and interrogatively.

“I thought perhaps it would be in your court,” she explained,— some way he wished she would look at him, but she kept her eyes to the view. “ I understand the indictment was for using the mails for the lottery, or whatever it was.”

The silence seemed long to the judge. He nervously flicked the ash from his cigar. “What do you know about it?” he demanded, almost irritably, so that she did look around, turning her graceful neck, with a mild surprise.

“Of course I’ve lost the run of the court business,” he added apologetically.

“Why, Laura Daniels told me about it yesterday morning,” she said; “and then Mitty’s telegram came and I forgot about it. I met this Mr. Bunner last fall, a year ago, at the Wayside. Some of the men had him out. It seems he’s a Yale man, — or was until there was a scrape over cards and he had to leave. I sat beside him at dinner and danced with him. I remembered it so well because afterwards there was a good deal of talk about his having been there. Some thought him not fit, — on account of the card scrape, partly, although I know some nice men stand up for him in that, and, partly, I fancy, on account of his people. It seems his father has a good deal of money, but is in something rather shady, — a bucketshop, is n’t it ?”

Judge Eldon nodded.

“ So it was said he should n’t have been asked. But I ’m sure I thought him nice. I remember his jolly brown eyes and white teeth under a little mustache, for he was laughing all the time. Others of the girls thought him nice, too. So when Laura told me this, it interested me.”

Mrs. Eldon spoke in her soft, even voice. “Bunner, Arthur ? Was n’t that the name of the odd couple that used to come out to see us, or you, rather, of a Sunday, — the fat man you’d known in the boarding-house ? ”

“ It was the name,” said the judge. “ I fancy this is their son.

“I judge they are getting rather promiscuous at the Wayside then,”was Mrs. Eldon’s comment.

“Are n’t we all more or less promiscuous, mamma?” the girl asked.

“Possibly, but not that promiscuous, my dear,” said Mrs. Eldon.

The women seemed to have completely dropped the subject, and, again, Anne was mildly surprised when her father prompted: “Laura told you, you say" —

“Why, Laura’s account was that he had backed some gambling men in starting this lottery arrangement, whatever it was, — had given them the money to start it and shared the profits. It seems it was an awful swindle and a great many people lost money through it, and the two gambling men ran away, and some clerk told about Mr. Bunner being a partner, and he was caught. I thought it would be in your court.”

Judge Eldon cleared his throat. “I suppose it will be in my court if it’s a mails case,” he said.

The subject was dropped. The judge looked out at the lake, smoking quite mechanically. It darkened within his mind faster than without. Out of the gray flood of his fortune something arose, took form, presented itself to him sombrely. This feeling of the incursion of the ominous thing was so acute that when the shabby cab from the station rattled up in the dusk he knew whom it would bring. He was even faintly surprised when only one figure — a woman’s — alighted and came up the lawn, instead of the two he had expected. He awaited her with helplessness.

She made out his figure as she approached, and came straight up the steps to him, ignoring the mother and daughter, He arose and bowed.

“I wish to speak to you,” she said, her back to the women.

He bowed again, conducted her through the invitingly roomy hall to the library, where he shut the door and turned on the light.

He noted, mechanically, that she had grown somewhat stout, but kept her rather fine, full-blown figure. Her black hair was peppered with gray under the large hat. Her bold black eyes under their heavy brows glowed at him with a large passion. The many jet ornaments on her silk cape jingled slightly as she moved, and he saw — some way it seemed very pathetic — that she wore big diamonds in her ears. She ignored the courteous suggestion of his hand to a seat.

“What are you going to do with my boy ?” she demanded. He felt the settled passion in her controlled voice as he had seen it in her eyes.

Perhaps it hardly remains with me to do anything, Mrs. Bunner.” He threw up the first little defense that came to him. He saw the muscles of her jaw harden with the effort at self-control, and her eyes snapped.

“You mean you will let it alone?”

He considered a moment, and spoke frankly. “I am infinitely sorry. But you should not come to me — the court — with a suggestion. Don’t you see?”

It took her an instant to get the point. Then her lips drew in a wintry smile. “It would be a little crooked, eh — if you said beforehand what you were going to do ? It would n’t be up to your fine character ?”

Her sarcasm was plain enough. He answered mildly, “I have nothing to say to you in defense of the character of Arthur Eldon. But I am the court. To pledge myself beforehand” — The vexatiousness of the situation came to him. He threw up his hand. “Oh, why did you come here, Mrs. Bunner?”

“Because I am mad.” She flung down the statement with a superb pride. “ What would you have done if I had left it to you ? What have you always done before? You took the money and my husband went to jail. After he got out you could have helped him. You had a fine wife and a fine position. It is n’t so easy for a man out of jail. He had a wife, too, you know. You turned your fine backs on us. Never mind that” — for she saw he was about to interrupt. “ If we were n’t up to your class that was our fault, of course. But I wanted my boy started right. He would have plenty of money and an education. A little help would have got him all the start he needed. I swallowed my pride and tried again. You know how well I succeeded.”

The judge was looking down, but he said quietly, “I dare say no one knows better than you that one’s wife does n’t always take the view one recommends.”

“It’s true enough that I don’t take Adam’s view,” she replied. “There is n’t an atom of resentment in his body. You know that, Arthur Eldon. No doubt your wife was to blame, not you. But it’s you now. My boy stands just where you stood twenty-seven years ago. Only his friends did n’t keep their mouths shut and take the punishment, as Adam did. They ran away. It’s you, now. You can save him as his father saved you, only without its costing you anything. I know how you can turn your fine back. I’m not on my knees begging anything from you, Arthur Eldon” —

Her controlled voice choked for a moment. She trembled all over so that her jet ornaments tinkled and the pathetic diamonds shook in her ears.

“I want justice for my boy. I want you to pay what you owe, and save him from”— She lost her voice an instant. “My God! his father was in jail, too. Do you understand that? I want justice, and I will have it. I’ ve kept the old memoranda. I can prove everything.”

Her eyes burned and her bosom moved with her quick breathing as she confronted him, struggling to keep herself in hand.

“I am not good-natured Adam Bunner,” she added in a steadier voice. “I am mad.”

Judge Eldon raised his eyes. It was very painful for him to look at her; but his face was firm, his bright blue eyes met her impassioned gaze with an inflexible steadiness. He spoke very quietly. “Mrs. Banner, I will make you no promise tonight. It was unfortunate that you came here. I assure you it will do no good to pursue this subject further at this time. You must leave it with me.”

She seemed ready to strike him, and bit her lip hard.

“Yes, I must leave it with you,” she said, after a moment. “ I will leave it with you. But I’m going to have justice. You can save my boy or go down with him.” She turned to the door, but added, over her shoulder, “I have the papers, not Adam.” With that she went out rapidly, never looking at the two women on the porch.

After a few minutes Judge Eldon went to the sideboard, took a small drink of whiskey, and walked out on the porch.

The two women were looking at him inquiringly, so he explained at once: —

“That was the young man’s mother, — Mrs. Bunner. I knew her and her husband long ago. It was very painful.”

They understood a mother’s impossible plea and sympathized with the judge.

“I remembered her at once,” said Mrs. Eldon in her soft voice. “But she gave me no opportunity to show it. Her manners seem not to improve with age.”

After a moment the girl spoke up musingly: “Toface a sentence to jail, — how dreadful that must be.”

The judge made no comment, and they understood that he did not wish to speak of it further, so they fell silent. Judge Eldon mechanically resumed his cigar.

Anne was the first to see the yellow dragon-eyes of the automobile advancing through the wood, and when the machine did not turn off at the corner, but held on toward their cottage, she sprang up.

“It’s Mitty,” she said, and no one would have needed an interpreter of the joy in her voice.

She ran down the steps and was at the gate by the time Mitchell Hanford reached it from the other side. He looked even bigger than common in his broad-brimmed, low-crowned, stiff straw hat and light, baggy suit. He took her hands.

“You got my wire?” he asked.

Not answering, she looked up at him with fond eyes, smiling a little. “It was fine, Mitty. I’m very glad — and very glad to see you.”

“Oh! But if I had failed ?” His joyous laugh rang out as he teased her.

She took his arm and brushed her cheek against his shoulder, as if to say that he could joke as much as he pleased but he knew better.

She was twenty-four. Mitchell Hanford, editor of the Daily Republican, was eleven years older. He had an assured manner, the air of coming from among men, and his attitude toward the girl was in keeping. They were jolly friends together, without much love-making. A pressure of the hands, a kiss for goodnight was all, as though they trusted each other so fully that pledges were unnecessary. The girl told herself that this was partly why she adored him.

They came up to the porch together. Hanford went at once to Mrs. Eldon. His hand rested on the back of her chair and he stooped a little as he spoke to her, laughing. There was something indefinitely protecting in this, like a good son. As she looked up into his handsome, laughing face, full of strength and goodhumor, she felt that she was to have a good son and was glad.

Even Judge Eldon, as Hanford shook his hand, laughing, felt vaguely comforted amid his trouble. The other man’s warm and powerful current lightened his chill.

“It was managed very handsomely, Mitty,” he said in acknowledgment.

Mrs. Eldon drew the shawl up on her shoulders with a gesture simple but oddly proud. “It was his due,” she said. “There could have been no real competitors.”

Hanford laughed. “That’s true. It took only a little time to convince the President that the other fellows were mere imitations, — especially as Illinois is going to be very important in the fall elections.”

The girl walked down the veranda, waiting for him, and when he joined her she asked at once, “Did you really have much trouble?” She had an eager woman’s interest in these men’s affairs of his. It seemed to her that it would be impossible to have an unplaced, unimportant youth for a lover.

“Oh, not much,” he answered lightly, “except that Aguinaldo bobbed up as usual.” Aguinaldo was his name for Hargass, the junior Senator from Illinois, who was always at outs with the party organization. “He was verymodest — for him. He would agree to Judge Eldon’s appointment provided the vacant district court judgeship be handed over to his hopeful brother-in-law Durkin. Otherwise he would raise a row and hang up the confirmation in the Senate.”

“The President would n’t like that,” she said.

“Naturally the President would n’t like to have his nominee for the Supreme Court openly opposed by the junior Senator from the nominee’s own state. So Dick took Aguinaldo up into a high mountain — and pushed him off. That is, he agreed to get Durkin the nomination for West Town Collector next year. You see, Dick has already agreed to let the professional reformers pass their perennial bill to abolish the office this winter, — so next year there won’t be any collcctorship.” He tilted back his head and laughed again.

She smiled a little over his free-handed zest for the game.

“So it all came out beautifully, you see,” he added. He was sitting on the veranda rail and had taken off his hat.

She leaned against him, slipped her arm over his shoulder, and kissed his cheek lightly. “ But it is n’t nice to have to do those things, is it, Mitty?”

He understood that she was coaxing him to be good, and he was rather surprised at her view of it.

“Well, you see, I needed that Supreme Court appointment — to bring home to you,” he answered, half in earnest.

Two days later as Judge Eldon sat alone in his chambers, Smoot came in.

The famous criminal lawyer was of a large and heavy figure. One noticed at once his thick lips and blunt nose. His ears, under the mane of dust-colored hair, were small and odd-shaped. His entrance impressed the judge disagreeably, as the approach of a dirty object impresses a fastidious man. He did not speak or rise, but looked impassively at the lawyer, as if to ask his business. Judge Eldon was one of those who had never paid an amiable deference to Smoot’s enormous success. He knew the man for a blackguard, and did not, like most of the others, act as though he thought him a gentleman because he was rich and powerful.

He knew that Smoot was too acute to overlook the coolness of his manner, but the big lawyer hitched a chair over, sat down at the judge’s elbow, tossed his light felt hat to the table, and crossed his legs as comfortably as though he had been solicitously invited.

“I came to tell the court my troubles,” Smoot began calmly. “You know I’m defending young Bunner in this lottery case. ”

A shock of apprehension went through the judge’s heart. Smoot’s eyes, of a fight gray color, were upon his with a look indescribably impudent and alert, and there was an odd, angry struggle in the judge’s mind against the startled question that leaped into his own eyes and which he knew Smoot to be watching for.

“I want to arrange with you for a hearing in chambers of an argument to quash the indictment,” said Smoot coolly as before.

“Why in chambers?” the judge demanded with sternness.

“There’s a woman in the case,” said the lawyer. “She’s a holy terror, too. It’s the boy’s mother. Unless you’ll give me an order to gag her, I can’t keep her from making a scene in court if the case should go against her son.”

“I dare say the court will be able to preserve order,” said Judge Eldon dryly. His bright blue eyes now met the lawyer’s impudent look firmly. He saw it plainly enough. Smoot knew — and was stirring him around with a dirty finger preparatory to pushing him into a hole. He felt a nausea over this nasty intrusion upon the innermost part of his life, — the smutty-handed Smoot playing at toss and catch with his conscience and honor. He was sick, but his eyes were firm.

“I suppose the trusty bailiff will be on hand,” the lawyer replied composedly. He picked a thread from his coat. “The fact is, it’s something personal. She wants to pitch into the court and unbosom herself to the newspapers to the extent of a front page or so — with pictures and a diagram marked with a cross to show the spot. Nobody wants anything of that sort, except this crazy woman — and the newspapers, of course. I can’t avoid a certain responsibility. At a hearing in chambers” —

“Why not a hearing in open court if it’s to be agreed beforehand that the indictment is to be quashed ? That’s what you mean, is n’t it?”

The insolent light gray eyes examined the judge’s face,andwith a mannerwhich for perfect impudence could not have been bettered, Smoot replied, “Well, you know, judge, that earthly power doth then show likest God’s when mercy seasons judgment.”

“As an attorney you put yourself in an extraordinary position.”

“Oh, my position now is friend of the court, you see.”

“Any suggestion as to the disposition of the case must be made in court. I think there is nothing further to say, Mr. Smoot.”

Smoot looked at the judge, believed he had him limned, and let the twinkle of a hidden smile show in his eyes. “I suppose there is nothing more to say — until a motion is made to take the case from the jury,” he answered cheerfully, and picked up his hat.

Judge Eldon watched the large figure out of the door. He was thinking bitterly: “It was like a mad woman first to come to me, then to bring in this blackguard.”

That night at the dinner-table he was absent-minded, a thing most unusual with him. Once or twice he noticed Anne looking at him questioningly. After dinner he stepped to the veranda, but at once went inside and to the library. After a moment he came into the hall and sat alone, without smoking, staring at the door. Several times Anne’s figure, on the veranda, came into view and he looked at her with a strange, increasing interest. He tried the library again, and came back into the hall, standing by the library door. When Anne came tripping in for a shawl she saw him standing there, looking at her.

It was in his usual voice that he said, “I should like to see you, Anne.”

He closed the library door after her, and motioned to a seat. As she was taking the seat he said abruptly, “Do you suppose you could get your mother to go to California with you, this week, for the winter ?”

She understood that some strange upheaval threatened; but she forbore to ask a question, replying simply, “I will try if you wish, father. You know how it taxes her to travel, and she has just come home.”

Her steadiness pleased him. He paced across the room, his head down, came back to the fireplace, and looked at her earnestly.

“You spoke of the case of Edward Bunner. His mother came here to see me, you remember.”

“Yes,” she said, every fibre attention. She saw how he passed his hand nervously over his chin,—her urbane, composed father, — and her heart beat fast.

He put both hands behind him and took his wrist in custody as was his custom when making a speech that required fixed thinking, and faced her squarely.

“I once lived in the same boardinghouse with Adam Bunner, this boy’s father. I was a young man then, just admitted to the bar and trying to get a foothold here in the city. It was pretty slow work. Bunner was a good-natured, careless, sporty young man. I found him interesting. He was running some sort of game where he sold a magic hair restorer or something like that by putting advertisements in the country papers and getting people to send him a dollar for a sample package. Of course it was the merest swindle. That was part of the joke to Bunner. I suppose this swindle and Bunner’s attitude more or less amused me, too. I had something of an outlook in very good society, thanks to a letter I had brought, and I had a taste for that. I had met your mother and fallen very much in love with her at the first. I was then earning about a hod-carrier’s wages in the law office, and it was a pretty desperate fight to keep up the front that seemed necessary if I was to go on with your mother and her friends. I had a little money from my mother. By the time I got through school and came in here there was a thousand dollars left for the campaign, and by the time I am telling you of half that was gone and I was getting blue. Remember I was a youth then, about your age, much in love, and with all a youth’s impatience. In short, I was ripe for a reckless stroke. Well, Bunner had talked with me several times. He had a brand-new scheme. He was around the race tracks more or less and knew a good many sporty men. He proposed to get up a sort of blind pool to bet on the races. His magic hair restorer was keeping him going, but he had no ready money at the time. I lent him my five hundred dollars to start his scheme.”

His eyes had not left hers. So far her face had shown only a kind of wonder. It did not change now. The judge moistened his lips and went on firmly: —

“I cannot say now that I gave myself much concern over it. I believe I was more anxious lest I lose my money than over anything else. I did not go much into the details of the scheme; but I knew perfectly that it was going to be more or less a swindle, for Bunner was that sort. I believed that he would win, for he was that sort, too. We called it simply a loan of money. I refused to have it any other way. Bunner laughed and let it go at that, for shouldering moral responsibilities was quite in his line. Yet I knew well enough that he proposed to return me my money at least several fold out of his winnings.

“Well, Bunner extended his patronage of the country newspapers, only instead of selling people hair restorer he sold them shares in his pool. The scheme was remarkably successful. At intervals Bunner handed me over various sums of money, — interest on the loan, he said, although the interest amounted to many times the principal. With the money that Bunner thus handed over I maintained myself and pursued such social advantages as I had. This was a great help to me professionally. Most of all I was able to keep my place as suitor to your mother, and less than two years after the loan to Bunner I married her. She had a considerable property, as you know, and with the connections of her family I was very well on my feet. Even before that, from time to time, I had promised myself that I would formally end the connection with Bunner by telling him the loan was canceled. Bunner, however, was busy preparing another and larger scheme and giving less attention to the pool. In short, for six months before my marriage I scarcely saw him or heard from him. I was taken up with other matters, as you may suppose, and I had a light-hearted disposition that easily absolved itself from care. He sent me a sum of money just before the wedding. I was much too busy to return it. Besides, it came in handily for the wedding journey to Europe. While we were on that journey Bunner was indicted for a fraudulent use of the mails. His whole pool swindle was exposed. I got back and found him under bonds and about to stand trial.”

The judge’s eye had been growing harder as the girl’s eyes quailed, as though her shrinking nerved him to cut steadily and to the bone.

“It was worse than I had ever suspected. I had supposed all along that it was a more or less dubious game played by a superior gambler upon inferior ones, — the sort of merry dog-eat-dog affair that one would expect of Bunner. But there is no doubt that many poor, foolish people were caught in the net. No one can tell who, for such records as existed were destroyed at the first sign of trouble. So the undiscoverable losses of many poor people whose money I had spent still stand in the account. Of course I saw Bunner. He had acted toward me with that loyalty which is part of his character. He had never mentioned my name. He said, ‘It won’t do any good to drag you into this.’ I did all I could to get him ably defended, but it was a clear enough case. He was fined five thousand dollars and given a year in jail. I tried to get him a pardon, but failed. When he came out of jail he married the young woman who had been his secretary, and who knew all about our relations. I made an attempt — half-heartedly, perhaps — to interest your mother in Mr. and Mrs. Adam Bunner. You can guess how they struck her, especially with the jail mark. Bunner and his wife are intelligent. After a trial or two they came no more. Bunner went into several things, all dubious but within the law, and finally into this bucketshop. He has made a lot of money. Their son grew up. If the mother then wanted the social recognition which she thought due to her income, I believe it was more on her son’s account than her own. I would, honestly, have done much to help her. But you can understand your mother’s attitude. Mrs. Bunner thinks I turned my back on them. Perhaps when all is said and done I did. But one can’t socially turn his back on his wife. Well, the son, it seems, rather takes after his father. At any rate, he went into this lottery scheme with some gambling friends, young Bunner furnishing the money. They ran away and left him to face the charge. So Edward Bunner now stands just where I stood almost thirty years ago, except that he has been found out and is coming up for trial next week — before me. Mrs. Bunner demands that I discharge the young man and pay my debt. She threatens, otherwise, to disclose the old connection. She has some documentary evidence of it, too.”

He saw the pale girl at the table, her lips slightly apart, a line of pain down the centre of her forehead, staring in bewilderment at a strange man, a man she had never seen before, who had somehow slipped into her father’s skin. As the first quailing in his daughter’s eyes prompted him to strip the ugly truth more resolutely, so now her complete alienation from him moved him to walk over and sit on the table near her.

“I would have helped the Bunners in this,” he went on. “Yes, I would have used my office to pay my debt if she had let it be a matter between my honor and myself. But she made an irretrievable mistake. Of course she was wild. She thought I had turned my back on them before when I might have helped for the son’s sake, and this other peril of his made her lose her head. All her passion seems to have centred in giving him a footing on a higher social plane than her own. So she came here and threatened me. That was bad enough. But that was not the greatest mistake. She went to Smoot, retained him to defend her son, and told him this story. You do not know Smoot, He is a blackguard to the middle of his soul. He prospers by entangling judges. His dirty fingers are always reaching toward them. So I will not quash the indictment, and she will publish her story.”

For the first time she spoke, lifting her hands to the arms of the chair. “Would that — the consequences of that — be very important?”

“Naturally it would upset the Supreme Court appointment, and then I should no doubt resign from the bench. You can guess what a find it would be for the newspapers,— ‘Judge Eldon a partner in a swindle; his fortunes founded on a crime.’ And what I chiefly dread now — is your mother.”

The girl looked as though she might cry out from sheer pain. Her face was drawn. “ But — is n’t there some way — something that can be done — some way out of it?” she asked.

He had seen her staring at the strange man, the swindler who had some way slipped into her father’s likeness; and he understood that now, struggling with repulsion and fear, it was as though she cried out, “Oh, you who have cheated us all our lives, can’t you save us from this ?” He had prepared himself. Nevertheless it was a bitter moment. His heart smarted.

“Of course, I could quash the indictment,” he said very dryly.

She looked a perplexed question, a little touched with hope.

“I shall not, however, though they ruin me,” he added quietly. “ I did that bit of dirty work that I have been telling you about in my youth. You can imagine that what followed was a profound shock to me. It changed me. I have never forgotten that shock. I know what it is to have something to hide. There are nearly thirty years since then without a spot on them, as open, before the Lord, as the day. Do you imagine that I am going back of the thirty years now — to renew my thing to hide? It’s true I owe the Bunners something. But I don’t owe them the honor of all my later life. I belong to what I have made myself now, not to what I was then, and I’m going to act according to what I am now, not according to what I was then. I might have quashed the indictment of my own notion; but not for a bribe of their silence. Do you imagine I’ll let that scoundrel Smoot bribe me — take him into my life ? Oh no, my dear. Whatever I once was, I now am the Judge Eldon that you and your mother know. Could Smoot’s dirty finger touch him? Never! I’ll stand or fall by that, my dear.”

The girl leaned swiftly forward. Her hand covered his. “Father! It’s fine!” her voice trembled. A mist of gracious tears came into her eyes. She leaned her head to his knee, saying, “You are my father! Daddy, you are my father!”

The judge touched her hair and was silent a moment. Then he took her head in his hands and had her look up. “You make it worth while, dear,” he said. “But the main point is — your mother. She has almost lived out of the world these ten years. She has not the vital hold on life that you have. It would be dreadful for her. That is what I fear now. Yet I am rather helpless alone. You ami I can understand each other. But we must not forget that this tiling exists. This act was done, irretrievable, and it seems minded to return now and ask payment. I am as ready as a man can be, — only I don’t want your mother to pay.”

“No — she must not — if any one can prevent it,” she said. “About her going away — I don’t know, father. I’m afraid she will not. If there were some other way”— She puzzled painfully over it a moment, but could see no way. “I will talk to her in the morning and see how she is disposed.” She puzzled over it again a moment and looked up at him with a kind of mournful fondness, her hand on his shoulder. “It seems that one should be permitted to take one little day in the past and bury it, does n’t it, daddy ?”

“They’re not so easily buried,” said the judge.

As they had feared, Mrs. Eldon laughed away all their schemes for a journey. The last days of the week slipped by and Sunday came. The trial was set for Tuesday morning.

Anne had been sleeping badly. She questioned the night as well as the day for an answer to her riddle. Sunday she passed another restless night. She looked from her window at the dim, sleeping wood, dozed a little and started wide awake with a great quake of fear, for fate had stolen up in the doze. It was dawn —of the only day before the trial.

They kept up appearances at breakfast. Her father went to the train without speaking to her. There was no need of speech.

Mrs. Eldon was uncommonly well. She moved freely about the house, very happy to be able to exercise a housekeeping interest. Various domestic arrangements occurred to her, and she discussed them with Anne, often gayly.

Strange schemes started up in Anne’s brain, — fantastic lies to lure her mother out of town, bogus telegrams calling them away. These poor, mirage breastworks which her imagination threw up faded as soon as formed. Nothing of that sort would do. The girl’s vision had become clairvoyant. She perceived truth in her mother’s beautiful, soft dark eyes and knew there must be no lying. That was one of the stakes to which they were tied.

Her mother was so happy — and this one day of grace was passing.

Among the fantastic schemes there was one, hardly more substantial or promising than the others, that had come to her twice in the night. She had thought of Edward Thinner, seeing again his merry, youthful brown eyes, ruddy, good-humored face,and smiling lips with a jaunty mustache over them.

Now as she and her mother were sitting at lunch, while she pretended to eat, and her mind wandered, this fantastic scheme drifted back again from its limbo. She happened to glance up at her mother. Mrs. Eldon, too, had ceased eating. She was looking up, smiling a little, her worn face soft with the look of a fond woman.

“I just remembered,” she said, “that he will wear a silk gown when he is a justice.”

Her eyes were upon her husband’s portrait, and she gave a little laugh.

“Yes,” said Anne, and arose. In the second her purpose had settled.

She went into the library where the telephone was and looked up the number she wished. While she was waiting for a connection with the city she consulted her watch and calculated that by quick work she could catch the 1.48 train. A few minutes later when Mrs. Eldon inquired for her the maid said she had gone for a walk.

She was at home when the judge arrived for dinner, but at the table, for the first time, she failed to keep up appearances. She was pale and noticeably indisposed. Her mother thought she had walked too far.

Directly after dinner the judge made an opportunity for her to find him alone in the library. She came in at once.

“Anything — happened?” she asked.

“No,” said the judge. He looked at her questioningly. “Have you been to the city?” It was understood between them that she was not to go to Mrs. Bunner, for the judge knew that would only humiliate her needlessly.

“I went to the city,” she said. She came up to him and put her hand on his arm. “Dear daddy, I think I’ve failed all around.”

The term of babyhood, the forlorn note in her voice, her weary face, cut to the man’s heart. He took her in his arms.

“Dear girl! I never meant to make it so hard for you. I was thinking of her. I should be sorry I told you, only you would have to know in the end anyway. As for your having failed, no matter. I have failed abundantly enough. I have lived a day too long, my daughter. I wish to Clod it were not so; but we can only take what’s coming. There’s one thing, Anne, we’ve known each other better.”

She kissed his cheek. “I’m afraid,” she said; “but I’m coming to court tomorrow. I could not bear to be any place else.”

There were some motions to be heard in the morning, and it was after eleven o’clock when the case against Edward Bunner was called.

The case proceeded with the usual tedious decorum of a federal court. Judge Eldon leaned back in his large chair, sidewise to the desk, listening with an air of rather bored judicial dignity, and having little to do, for there were few objections, and those were not pressed. The court habitués noted with surprise that Smoot was not fighting his case, and they surmised that he had something up his sleeve. The newspapers had made a feature of this trial of a rich man’s son, but to people who go to court for a show the case promised indifferent amusement, neither a murder nor a woman being involved, so the benches allotted to the public were only half filled. Now and then a spectator got up and tiptoed out in search of livelier diversion. Now and then one tiptoed in, slid into a seat, and tried to interest himself.

Miss Eldon declined the seat beside the judge which would have been at her disposal, and took one in the front row of spectators on the left. The young defendant sat at a table inside the rail. Smoot sat on the other side of the table, his long legs comfortably crossed, his hands in his lap, a slight, attentive frown on his face. Mrs. Bunner sat behind her son at the end of the table, very erect, her powerful dark eyes oftener upon the judge than upon the witness or attorney. Judge Eldon had given one quick glance in that direction as he took his seat, and noticed that Adam Bunner was not present, — also, that a black silk bag lay on the table in front of Mrs. Bunner. Then he had turned his back.

Several times during the forenoon the young defendant looked over at the girl in the front row of spectators. If her face was averted he looked at her for some time as though powerless to look away. Once her eye met his and he smiled a little. Again when her eye met his he looked away quickly and moved nervously in his seat.

The tedious formalities of the trial proceeded. At half-past twelve court adjourned until two. Judge Eldon stood up and waited for his daughter to join him. Mrs. Bunner leaned forward and plucked Smoot’s sleeve. They whispered together a moment. Then Smoot arose, walked rapidly and confidently forward and up the steps to the bench and spoke to the judge, Mrs. Bunner’s eyes following him. Anne was at the gate in the rail which divided bench and bar from the public. As Smoot went ahead of her, she hesitated there a moment, looking up at her father and the lawyer, the latter talking and frowning. Young Bunner’s eyes were fixed upon her upturned face. He turned a little pale and was about to rise and go to her when Smoot stepped away and she hastened forward to join her father.

They went into the chambers. The judge looked at her with a painful dryness in his eyes. It seemed to her that he had grown much older.

“When the testimony for the prosecution is in,” he said, “Smoot will move to take the case from the jury and discharge the prisoner. If I overrule the motion Mrs. Bunner will make a scene in court that will give her an opportunity to tell her story to the reporters. She has her documents with her. I have ordered some lunch sent in here.”

“I supposed it would be something like that,” said Anne.

Sub-consciously both understood their state. In that pause before the crisis all their powers went to sustaining the nerves and keeping up the physical form of life, leaving the brain dull. They had nothing to say to each other.

“I think I will go out and get something to eat,” said Anne dully. “I shall feel better for walking a little.”

“Yes,” said the judge sympathetically.

“Anne! I would n’t come back if I were you. There’s no need.”

“I should go mad waiting,” she said, as though she were making a commonplace statement.

He stared after her helplessly as she went out. Lunch was placed before him. Mechanically he ate a bit of the repugnant food and sipped the tea, the while looking fixedly out of the broad window at the sign-littered store fronts across the way, but hardly seeing them. After all, he might be able to grant Smoot’s motion. Smoot was a good lawyer, and he might present some strong warrant for the court’s interference. Perhaps he had discovered a fatal flaw in the prosecution’s case. In a way the judge was aware that this was mere weakness, but his mind dragged helplessly around it. The first thing from the outside that really penetrated him was the cry of a newsboy, faintly heard from the street: —

“’Nextra pa-por. . . . Big robbery! Get ’nextra papor!”

And it came to him with a mighty shock that in a few hours they would be crying the extra papers with all about Judge Eldon accused. It seemed to him that he knew how those felt who had waited to be thrown to wild beasts. The minute hand of the clock moved on. He sat in his chair, dulled with pain, waiting helplessly for the stroke of two.

Mrs. Bunner came in early and took her place at the table, on which she placed the silk bag. Smoot and the young man stepped out of the elevator at three minutes before two, still smoking their cigars. The young man was preoccupied and slightly pale. Glancing down the corridor he saw Anne Eldon standing by the small door that gave to the judge’s chambers.

Smoot touched his hat carelessly to the young woman, for she was looking at them, and turned in at the courtroom door. Young Bunner went swiftly by and came up to Anne, his hat in his hand.

“I’m afraid what you told me is true — about my mother,” he said. “It is true, Miss Eldon; but I can’t change her purpose.”

“No,” she said, with an odd gentleness. Her candid eyes held his with a kind of sad sympathy.

“What you’ve done — did yesterday, you know’,” he stammered. “I think it was fine and I appreciate it. I ’m sorry — for all. But it’s my mother.”

“Yes,” she said. “It was for my mother, too, — it is for her. We cannot help it.” Again there was that oddly humble despair.

He stared at her an instant, was aware of Smoot standing in the courtroom door, frowning. “Well, never mind,” he muttered. He turned away, and when he joined Smoot he was smiling, so that the lawyer suspected a bit of youthful gallantry.

The court sat. The trial was resumed. Presentation of the testimony for the prosecution, while dry enough, involved many details. It was nearly four when the district attorney rested. Smoot arose deliberately, almost lazily, and gave notice of his motion to discharge the prisoner.

When Smoot began the argument on his motion the district attorney leaned forward, all attention, well knowing the acute and resourceful mind opposed to him, and somewhat nervous, half fearing that, after all, he had left some fatal flaw in his case which Smoot had discovered and was about to expose. As the argument proceeded his attentive attitude relaxed. He straightened up, then leaned back in his chair, staring around at the court in blank astonishment. For, as a piece of legal reasoning, this argument of Smoot’s was beneath contempt. If it had come from an unknown man that man would have been set down for a blockhead. Coming from Smoot it could only be regarded as a piece of amazing impudence, the purpose of which was beyond the district attorney’s comprehension. So he stared at the court.

Butthecourt’s head was bowled. Judge Eldon understood perfectly. Smoot thought he had the judge limned, and he proposed not to leave him a rag of defense. He proposed to make him discharge the prisoner on this ridiculous plea so that between them thereafter there could be no doubt of the motive.

Smoot’s drawling voice ceased and he sat down, complacently crossing his legs. The district attorney stood up and spoke a dozen contemptuous words in reply, for mere form’s sake.

A hush fell. Mrs. Bunner drew a parcel of papers from the silk bag and held them in her hands. They awaited the court’s judgment.

Judge Eldon, still looking down at the desk, put his hands on the arms of his chair and softly cleared his throat to speak the words which would overrule Smoot’s motion. But before his lips formed the first word another voice spoke: —

“If the court please.”

He looked up quickly and saw that the young prisoner was standing, his eyes on the floor. Smoot had started forward a little, a scowl on his face.

“I wish to change my plea. I wish to take back the plea of not guilty and make a plea of guilty.” The young man looked steadily up at the judge. “I am guilty, your honor. I knew this was a crooked scheme, and that the men were using my money to go into it. I am guilty. I wish to take my punishment.”

In a perfect silence the young man sat down, and the whole scene seemed hung in mid-air.

Judge Eldon felt himself, too, in midair, and it was from that strange suspense that his dry, judicial voice spoke quite mechanically:—

“The clerk will change the plea to guilty.”

These words, in the judicial voice, seemed to bring the scene to earth, and unalterably fix the act. Smoot dropped back helplessly. Mrs. Bunner sat with starting eyes; all the breath seemed to have left her body.

Then Judge Eldon spoke again, almost mechanically: —

“Nothing remains but for the court to pass sentence. The statute prescribes that the punishment shall consist of a fine of not less than five hundred or more than five thousand dollars, or imprisonment for not less than thirty days or more than one year, or both, in the discretion of the court. It is clear to the court that this defendant had no settled criminal intention. He was light-hearted and careless as many of us who have grown gray and sober were in our youth. He has acknowledged his fault, and in that he is fortunate and entitled to honor. I cannot discharge him under his plea, but I can impose the lightest penalty, a fine of five hundred dollars, and suspend the fine. That I will do. Court is adjourned.”

He arose and entered his chambers. Mrs. Bunner sat with her head leaning on her hand. Anne Eldon passed through the gate in the rail. The young man looked at her. She came up to him and held out her hand. As he stood, holding her hand, he perceived that she was profoundly shaken, and that she honored him, and his heart was uplifted. They said nothing, for Smoot was there. There was no need to say anything. She passed on.

When she entered the chambers she saw the judge standing in the middle of the floor like one amazed. She went swiftly up to him, herself much shaken, for young Bunner’s act stood above both of them and overpowered their hearts.

She touched her cheek against his shoulder and whispered, “We’ve buried it, daddy.”

“Oh no! Not ‘we,’ Anne; not ‘we!’ but you two young people! It was you two young people! You had been to see him.”

“Yes. I went to see him yesterday. I had met him. It was only the matter of some casual talk and a dance, yet I felt toward him that he would be my friend. I suppose I thought him nice. You know. And yesterday I went to him — to try to show him how useless his mother’s act would be. He could not change her, it seems. But he thought of this other way — to plead guilty — which I had not mentioned or thought of. My going to him in that way— it touched his chivalry, you see. It was very fine, father.”

“So fine, my dear, that I never quite felt it before — how fine it is to be fine. I think I never really repented before.” He looked hesitatingly at her and she knew that his contrite heart was contemplating a sacrifice.

She slipped her arm over his shoulder. “You must n’t make it useless, father — what he did. That was his gift. You cannot throw it away. You cannot go back of the thirty years now any more than you could the other day when Smoot approached you. You are Judge Eldon — Justice Eldon.”

“Well, — you are right there, Anne,” he said. “Yet it is a strange thing, — his father would have been capable of something like that, done out of generosity. No, that one day in the past is not buried, Anne. One can never really bury it. And now I do not wish it buried. I wish to keep it by me for repentance and humbleness and charity. That is the most and the least I can do. Let me never forget it.”

Hanford came out that evening. Anne walked to the gate with him. He was in his jolliest mood.

“The announcement will be made next week,” he told her, “so you must get ready to have your picture taken for the newspapers to publish as ‘ The Beautiful Daughter of the New Justice.’”

She brushed her cheek against his shoulder. He had noticed that she was unusually silent to-night.

“Mitty!” She stopped, and, to his astonishment, her voice trembled. “What are you going to do with Senator Hargass ?”

His blank surprise continued. Out of it he answered, “Why, throw him in the air.”

“You must n’t do it! Mitty, you must n’t do it!” Her voice was trembling. “Oh no! No! No!” she cried out and threw herself upon his breast.

Amid his sheer bewilderment Hanford vaguely perceived that his nice girl had suddenly become an impassioned woman.