A WASTED DAY

By Richard Harding Davis

When its turn came, the private secretary, somewhat apologetically, laidthe letter in front of the Wisest Man in Wall Street. 

"From Mrs. Austin, probation officer, Court of General Sessions, " heexplained. "Wants a letter about Spear. He's been convicted of theft. Comes up for sentence Tuesday. "

"Spear?" repeated Arnold Thorndike. 

"Young fellow, stenographer, used to do your letters last summer goingin and out on the train. "

The great man nodded. "I remember. What about him?"

The habitual gloom of the private secretary was lightened by a grin. 

"Went on the loose; had with him about five hundred dollars belonging tothe firm; he's with Isaacs & Sons now, shoe people on Sixth Avenue. Meta woman, and woke up without the money. The next morning he offered tomake good, but Isaacs called in a policeman. When they looked into it, they found the boy had been drunk. They tried to withdraw the charge, but he'd been committed. Now, the probation officer is trying to get thejudge to suspend sentence. A letter from you, sir, would--"

It was evident the mind of the great man was elsewhere. Young men who, drunk or sober, spent the firm's money on women who disappeared beforesunrise did not appeal to him. Another letter submitted that morninghad come from his art agent in Europe. In Florence he had discovered theCorreggio he had been sent to find. It was undoubtedly genuine, and heasked to be instructed by cable. The price was forty thousand dollars. With one eye closed, and the other keenly regarding the inkstand, Mr. Thorndike decided to pay the price; and with the facility of longpractice dismissed the Correggio, and snapped his mind back to thepresent. 

"Spear had a letter from us when he left, didn't he?" he asked. "What hehas developed into, SINCE he left us--" he shrugged his shoulders. Thesecretary withdrew the letter, and slipped another in its place. 

"Homer Firth, the landscape man, " he chanted, "wants permission to useblue flint on the new road, with turf gutters, and to plant silver firseach side. Says it will run to about five thousand dollars a mile. "

"No!" protested the great man firmly, "blue flint makes a country placelook like a cemetery. Mine looks too much like a cemetery now. Landscapegardeners!" he exclaimed impatiently. "Their only idea is to insultnature. The place was better the day I bought it, when it was runningwild; you could pick flowers all the way to the gates. " Pleased thatit should have recurred to him, the great man smiled. "Why, Spear, " heexclaimed, "always took in a bunch of them for his mother. Don't youremember, we used to see him before breakfast wandering around thegrounds picking flowers?" Mr. Thorndike nodded briskly. "I like histaking flowers to his mother. "

"He SAID it was to his mother, " suggested the secretary gloomily. 

"Well, he picked the flowers, anyway, " laughed Mr. Thorndike. "He didn'tpick our pockets. And he had the run of the house in those days. Asfar as we know, " he dictated, "he was satisfactory. Don't say more thanthat. "

The secretary scribbled a mark with his pencil. "And the landscape man?"

"Tell him, " commanded Thorndike, "I want a wood road, suitable to afarm; and to let the trees grow where God planted them. "

As his car slid downtown on Tuesday morning the mind of Arnold Thorndikewas occupied with such details of daily routine as the purchase of arailroad, the Japanese loan, the new wing to his art gallery, and anattack that morning, in his own newspaper, upon his pet trust. But hisbusy mind was not too occupied to return the salutes of the trafficpolicemen who cleared the way for him. Or, by some genius of memory, to recall the fact that it was on this morning young Spear was to besentenced for theft. It was a charming morning. The spring was atfull tide, and the air was sweet and clean. Mr. Thorndike consideredwhimsically that to send a man to jail with the memory of such a morningclinging to him was adding a year to his sentence. He regretted he hadnot given the probation officer a stronger letter. He remembered theyoung man now, and favorably. A shy, silent youth, deft in work, andat other times conscious and embarrassed. But that, on the part of astenographer, in the presence of the Wisest Man in Wall Street, was notunnatural. On occasions, Mr. Thorndike had put even royalty--frayed, impecunious royalty, on the lookout for a loan--at its ease. 

The hood of the car was down, and the taste of the air, warmed by thesun, was grateful. It was at this time, a year before, that young Spearpicked the spring flowers to take to his mother. A year from now wherewould young Spear be?

It was characteristic of the great man to act quickly, so quicklythat his friends declared he was a slave to impulse. It was these sameimpulses, leading so invariably to success, that made his enemiescall him the Wisest Man. He leaned forward and touched the chauffeur'sshoulder. "Stop at the Court of General Sessions, " he commanded. Whathe proposed to do would take but a few minutes. A word, a personal wordfrom him to the district attorney, or the judge, would be enough. Herecalled that a Sunday Special had once calculated that the working timeof Arnold Thorndike brought him in two hundred dollars a minute. At thatrate, keeping Spear out of prison would cost a thousand dollars. 

Out of the sunshine Mr. Thorndike stepped into the gloom of an echoingrotunda, shut in on every side, hung by balconies, lit, many storiesoverhead, by a dirty skylight. The place was damp, the air acrid withthe smell of stale tobacco juice, and foul with the presence of manyunwashed humans. A policeman, chewing stolidly, nodded toward anelevator shaft, and other policemen nodded him further on to the officeof the district attorney. There Arnold Thorndike breathed more freely. He was again among his own people. He could not help but appreciate thedramatic qualities of the situation; that the richest man in Wall Streetshould appear in person to plead for a humble and weaker brother. Heknew he could not escape recognition, his face was too well known, but, he trusted, for the sake of Spear, the reporters would make no displayof his visit. With a deprecatory laugh, he explained why he had come. But the outburst of approbation he had anticipated did not follow. 

The district attorney ran his finger briskly down a printed card. "Henry Spear, " he exclaimed, "that's your man. Part Three, Judge Fallon. Andrews is in that court. " He walked to the door of his private office. "Andrews!" he called. 

He introduced an alert, broad-shouldered young man of years of muchindiscretion and with a charming and inconsequent manner. 

"Mr. Thorndike is interested in Henry Spear, coming up for sentencein Part Three this morning. Wants to speak for him. Take him over withyou. "

The district attorney shook hands quickly, and retreated to his privateoffice. Mr. Andrews took out a cigarette and, as he crossed the floor, lit it. 

"Come with me, " he commanded. Somewhat puzzled, slightly annoyed, butenjoying withal the novelty of the environment and the curtness of hisreception, Mr. Thorndike followed. He decided that, in his ignorance, hehad wasted his own time and that of the prosecuting attorney. He shouldat once have sent in his card to the judge. As he understood it, Mr. Andrews was now conducting him to that dignitary, and, in a moment, hewould be free to return to his own affairs, which were the affairs oftwo continents. But Mr. Andrews led him to an office, bare and small, and offered him a chair, and handed him a morning newspaper. Therewere people waiting in the room; strange people, only like those Mr. Thorndike had seen on ferry-boats. They leaned forward toward young Mr. Andrews, fawning, their eyes wide with apprehension. 

Mr. Thorndike refused the newspaper. "I thought I was going to see thejudge, " he suggested. 

"Court doesn't open for a few minutes yet, " said the assistant districtattorney. "Judge is always late, anyway. "

Mr. Thorndike suppressed an exclamation. He wanted to protest, but hisclear mind showed him that there was nothing against which, with reason, he could protest. He could not complain because these people were notapparently aware of the sacrifice he was making. He had come among themto perform a kindly act. He recognized that he must not stultify it by ashow of irritation. He had precipitated himself into a game of which hedid not know the rules. That was all. Next time he would know better. Next time he would send a clerk. But he was not without a sense ofhumor, and the situation as it now was forced upon him struck him asamusing. He laughed good-naturedly and reached for the desk telephone. 

"May I use this?" he asked. He spoke to the Wall Street office. Heexplained he would be a few minutes late. He directed what should bedone if the market opened in a certain way. He gave rapid orders on manydifferent matters, asked to have read to him a cablegram he expectedfrom Petersburg, and one from Vienna. 

"They answer each other, " was his final instruction. "It looks likepeace. "

Mr. Andrews with genial patience had remained silent. Now he turnedupon his visitors. A Levantine, burly, unshaven, and soiled, toweredtruculently above him. Young Mr. Andrews with his swivel chair tiltedback, his hands clasped behind his head, his cigarette hanging from hislips, regarded the man dispassionately. 

"You gotta hell of a nerve to come to see me, " he commented cheerfully. To Mr. Thorndike, the form of greeting was novel. So greatly did itdiffer from the procedure of his own office, that he listened withinterest. 

"Was it you, " demanded young Andrews, in a puzzled tone, "or yourbrother who tried to knife me?" Mr. Thorndike, unaccustomed to crossthe pavement to his office unless escorted by bank messengers andplain-clothes men, felt the room growing rapidly smaller; the figure ofthe truculent Greek loomed to heroic proportions. The hand of the bankerwent vaguely to his chin, and from there fell to his pearl pin, which hehastily covered. 

"Get out!" said young Andrews, "and don't show your face here--"

The door slammed upon the flying Greek. Young Andrews swung his swivelchair so that, over his shoulder, he could see Mr. Thorndike. "I don'tlike his face, " he explained. 

A kindly eyed, sad woman with a basket on her knee smiled upon Andrewswith the familiarity of an old acquaintance. 

"Is that woman going to get a divorce from my son, " she asked, "now thathe's in trouble?"

"Now that he's in Sing Sing?" corrected Mr. Andrews. "I HOPE so! Shedeserves it. That son of yours, Mrs. Bernard, " he declared emphatically, "is no good!"

The brutality shocked Mr. Thorndike. For the woman he felt a thrill ofsympathy, but at once saw that it was superfluous. From the secure andlofty heights of motherhood, Mrs. Bernard smiled down upon the assistantdistrict attorney as upon a naughty child. She did not even deign aprotest. She continued merely to smile. The smile reminded Thorndike ofthe smile on the face of a mother in a painting by Murillo he had latelypresented to the chapel in the college he had given to his native town. 

"That son of yours, " repeated young Andrews, "is a leech. He's robbedyou, robbed his wife. Best thing I ever did for YOU was to send him upthe river. "

The mother smiled upon him beseechingly. 

"Could you give me a pass?" she said. 

Young Andrews flung up his hands and appealed to Thorndike. 

"Isn't that just like a mother?" he protested. "That son of hers hasbroken her heart, tramped on her, cheated her; hasn't left her a cent;and she comes to me for a pass, so she can kiss him through the bars!And I'll bet she's got a cake for him in that basket!"

The mother laughed happily; she knew now she would get the pass. 

"Mothers, " explained Mr. Andrews, from the depth of his wisdom, "areall like that; your mother, my mother. If you went to jail, your motherwould be just like that. "

Mr. Thorndike bowed his head politely. He had never considered goingto jail, or whether, if he did, his mother would bring him cake in abasket. Apparently there were many aspects and accidents of life notincluded in his experience. 

Young Andrews sprang to his feet, and, with the force of a hose flushinga gutter, swept his soiled visitors into the hall. 

"Come on, " he called to the Wisest Man, "the court is open. "

In the corridors were many people, and with his eyes on the broadshoulders of the assistant district attorney, Thorndike pushed his waythrough them. The people who blocked his progress were of the classunknown to him. Their looks were anxious, furtive, miserable. They stoodin little groups, listening eagerly to a sharp-faced lawyer, or, insullen despair, eying each other. At a door a tipstaff laid his handroughly on the arm of Mr. Thorndike. 

"That's all right, Joe, " called young Mr. Andrews, "he's with ME. " Theyentered the court and passed down an aisle to a railed enclosurein which were high oak chairs. Again, in his effort to follow, Mr. Thorndike was halted, but the first tipstaff came to his rescue. "Allright, " he signalled, "he's with Mr. Andrews. "

Mr. Andrews pointed to one of the oak chairs. "You sit there, " hecommanded, "it's reserved for members of the bar, but it's all right. You're with ME. "

Distinctly annoyed, slightly bewildered, the banker sank between thearms of a chair. He felt he had lost his individuality. Andrews hadbecome his sponsor. Because of Andrews he was tolerated. Because Andrewshad a pull he was permitted to sit as an equal among police-courtlawyers. No longer was he Arnold Thorndike. He was merely the man "withMr. Andrews. "

Then even Andrews abandoned him. "The judge'll be here in a minute, now, " said the assistant district attorney, and went inside a railedenclosure in front of the judge's bench. There he greeted anotherassistant district attorney whose years were those of even greaterindiscretion than the years of Mr. Andrews. Seated on the rail, withtheir hands in their pockets and their backs turned to Mr. Thorndike, they laughed and talked together. The subject of their discourse was oneMike Donlin, as he appeared in vaudeville. 

To Mr. Thorndike it was evident that young Andrews had entirelyforgotten him. He arose, and touched his sleeve. With infinite sarcasmMr. Thorndike began: "My engagements are not pressing, but--"

A court attendant beat with his palm upon the rail. 

"Sit down!" whispered Andrews. "The judge is coming. "

Mr. Thorndike sat down. 

The court attendant droned loudly words Mr. Thorndike could notdistinguish. There was a rustle of silk, and from a door behind himthe judge stalked past. He was a young man, the type of the Tammanypolitician. On his shrewd, alert, Irish-American features was anexpression of unnatural gloom. With a smile Mr. Thorndike observed thatit was as little suited to the countenance of the young judge as wasthe robe to his shoulders. Mr. Thorndike was still smiling when youngAndrews leaned over the rail. 

"Stand up!" he hissed. Mr. Thorndike stood up. 

After the court attendant had uttered more unintelligible words, everyone sat down; and the financier again moved hurriedly to the rail. 

"I would like to speak to him now before he begins, " he whispered. "Ican't wait. "

Mr. Andrews stared in amazement. The banker had not believed the youngman could look so serious. 

"Speak to him, NOW!" exclaimed the district attorney. 'You've got towait till your man comes up. If you speak to the judge, NOW--" The voiceof Andrews faded away in horror. 

Not knowing in what way he had offended, but convinced that it wasonly by the grace of Andrews he had escaped a dungeon, Mr. Thorndikeretreated to his arm-chair. 

The clock on the wall showed him that, already, he had given to youngSpear one hour and a quarter. The idea was preposterous. No one betterthan himself knew what his time was really worth. In half an hour therewas a board meeting; later, he was to hold a post mortem on a railroad;at every moment questions were being asked by telegraph, by cable, questions that involved the credit of individuals, of firms, of even thecountry. And the one man who could answer them was risking untold sumsonly that he might say a good word for an idle apprentice. Inside therailed enclosure a lawyer was reading a typewritten speech. He assuredhis honor that he must have more time to prepare his case. It was oneof immense importance. The name of a most respectable business house wasinvolved, and a sum of no less than nine hundred dollars. Nine hundreddollars! The contrast struck Mr. Thorndike's sense of humor full in thecentre. Unknowingly, he laughed, and found himself as conspicuous asthough he had appeared suddenly in his night-clothes. The tipstaffsbeat upon the rail, the lawyer he had interrupted uttered an indignantexclamation, Andrews came hurriedly toward him, and the young judgeslowly turned his head. 

"Those persons, " he said, "who cannot respect the dignity of thiscourt will leave it. " As he spoke, with his eyes fixed on those of Mr. Thorndike, the latter saw that the young judge had suddenly recognizedhim. But the fact of his identity did not cause the frown to relax orthe rebuke to halt unuttered. In even, icy tones the judge continued:"And it is well they should remember that the law is no respecter ofpersons and that the dignity of this court will be enforced, no matterwho the offender may happen to be. "

Andrews slipped into the chair beside Mr. Thorndike, and grinnedsympathetically. 

"Sorry!" he whispered. "Should have warned you. We won't be long now, "he added encouragingly. "As soon as this fellow finishes his argument, the judge'll take up the sentences. Your man seems to have otherfriends; Isaacs & Sons are here, and the type-writer firm who taughthim; but what YOU say will help most. It won't be more than a couple ofhours now. "

"A couple of hours!" Mr. Thorndike raged inwardly. A couple of hoursin this place where he had been publicly humiliated. He smiled, athin, shark-like smile. Those who made it their business to study hisexpressions, on seeing it, would have fled. Young Andrews, not beingacquainted with the moods of the great man, added cheerfully: "By oneo'clock, anyway. "

Mr. Thorndike began grimly to pull on his gloves. For all he cared nowyoung Spear could go hang. Andrews nudged his elbow. 

"See that old lady in the front row?" he whispered. "That's Mrs. Spear. What did I tell you; mothers are all alike. She's not taken her eyes offyou since court opened. She knows you're her one best bet. "

Impatiently Mr. Thorndike raised his head. He saw a little, white-hairedwoman who stared at him. In her eyes was the same look he had seenin the eyes of men who, at times of panic, fled to him, beseeching, entreating, forcing upon him what was left of the wreck of theirfortunes, if only he would save their honor. 

"And here come the prisoners, " Andrews whispered. "See Spear? Third manfrom the last. " A long line, guarded in front and rear, shuffled intothe court-room, and, as ordered, ranged themselves against the wall. Among them were old men and young boys, well dressed, clever-lookingrascals, collarless tramps, fierce-eyed aliens, smooth-shaven, thin-lipped Broadwayards--and Spear. 

Spear, his head hanging, with lips white and cheeks ashen, and his eyesheavy with shame. 

Mr. Thorndike had risen, and, in farewell, was holding out his hand toAndrews. He turned, and across the court-room the eyes of the financierand the stenographer met. At the sight of the great man, Spear flushedcrimson, and then his look of despair slowly disappeared; and into hiseyes there came incredulously hope and gratitude. He turned his headsuddenly to the wall. 

Mr. Thorndike stood irresolute, and then sank back into his chair. 

The first man in the line was already at the railing, and the questionsput to him by the judge were being repeated to him by the otherassistant district attorney and a court attendant. His muttered answerswere in turn repeated to the judge. 

"Says he's married, naturalized citizen, Lutheran Church, die-cutter byprofession. "

The probation officer, her hands filled with papers, bustled forward andwhispered. 

"Mrs. Austin says, " continued the district attorney, "she's looked intothis case, and asks to have the man turned over to her. He has a wifeand three children; has supported them for five years. "

"Is the wife in court?" the judge said. 

A thin, washed-out, pretty woman stood up, and clasped her hands infront of her. 

"Has this man been a good husband to you, madam?" asked the young judge. 

The woman broke into vehement assurances. No man could have been abetter husband. Would she take him back? Indeed she would take him back. She held out her hands as though she would physically drag her husbandfrom the pillory. 

The judge bowed toward the probation officer, and she beckoned theprisoner to her. 

Other men followed, and in the fortune of each Mr. Thorndike foundhimself, to his surprise, taking a personal interest. It was as good asa play. It reminded him of the Sicilians he had seen in London in theirlittle sordid tragedies. Only these actors were appearing in theirproper persons in real dramas of a life he did not know, but whichappealed to something that had been long untouched, long in disuse. Itwas an uncomfortable sensation that left him restless because, as heappreciated, it needed expression, an outlet. He found this, partially, in praising, through Andrews, the young judge who had publicly rebukedhim. Mr. Thorndike found him astute, sane; his queries intelligent, hiscomments just. And this probation officer, she, too, was capable, wasshe not? Smiling at his interest in what to him was an old story, theyounger man nodded. 

"I like her looks, " whispered the great man. "Like her clear eyes andclean skin. She strikes me as able, full of energy, and yet womanly. These men when they come under her charge, " he insisted, eagerly, "needmoney to start again, don't they?" He spoke anxiously. He believed hehad found the clew to his restlessness. It was a desire to help; to beof use to these failures who had fallen and who were being lifted totheir feet. Andrews looked at him curiously. "Anything you give her, " heanswered, "would be well invested. "

"If you will tell me her name and address?" whispered the banker. He wasmuch given to charity, but it had been perfunctory, it was extended onthe advice of his secretary. In helping here, he felt a genial glowof personal pleasure. It was much more satisfactory than giving an OldMaster to his private chapel. 

In the rear of the court-room there was a scuffle that caused everyone to turn and look. A man, who had tried to force his way past thetipstaffs, was being violently ejected, and, as he disappeared, he waveda paper toward Mr. Thorndike. The banker recognized him as his chiefclerk. Andrews rose anxiously. "That man wanted to get to you. I'll seewhat it is. Maybe it's important. "

Mr. Thorndike pulled him back. 

"Maybe it is, " he said dryly. "But I can't see him now, I'm busy. "

Slowly the long line of derelicts, of birds of prey, of sorry, weakfailures, passed before the seat of judgment. Mr. Thorndike had movedinto a chair nearer to the rail, and from time to time made a note uponthe back of an envelope. He had forgotten the time or had chosen todisregard it. So great was his interest that he had forgotten theparticular derelict he had come to serve, until Spear stood almost athis elbow. 

Thorndike turned eagerly to the judge, and saw that he was listening toa rotund, gray little man with beady, bird-like eyes who, as he talked, bowed and gesticulated. Behind him stood a younger man, a more modernedition of the other. He also bowed and, behind gold eye-glasses, smiledingratiatingly. 

The judge nodded, and leaning forward, for a few moments fixed his eyesupon the prisoner. 

"You are a very fortunate young man, " he said. He laid his hand upon apile of letters. "When you were your own worst enemy, your friendscame to help you. These letters speak for you; your employers, whom yourobbed, have pleaded with me in your favor. It is urged, in your behalf, that at the time you committed the crime of which you are found guilty, you were intoxicated. In the eyes of the law, that is no excuse. Somemen can drink and keep their senses. It appears you can not. When youdrink you are a menace to yourself--and, as is shown by this crime, to the community. Therefore, you must not drink. In view of the goodcharacter to which your friends have testified, and on the conditionthat you do not touch liquor, I will not sentence you to jail, but willplace you in charge of the probation officer. "

The judge leaned back in his chair and beckoned to Mr. Andrews. It wasfinished. Spear was free, and from different parts of the courtroompeople were moving toward the door. Their numbers showed that thefriends of the young man had been many. Mr. Thorndike felt a certaintwinge of disappointment. Even though the result relieved and pleasedhim, he wished, in bringing it about, he had had some part. 

He begrudged to Isaacs & Sons the credit of having given Spearhis liberty. His morning had been wasted. He had neglected his owninterests, and in no way assisted those of Spear. He was moving out ofthe railed enclosure when Andrews called him by name. 

"His honor, " he said impressively, "wishes to speak to you. "

The judge leaned over his desk and shook Mr. Thorndike by the hand. Thenhe made a speech. The speech was about public-spirited citizens who, tothe neglect of their own interests, came to assist the ends of justice, and fellow-creatures in misfortune. He purposely spoke in a loud voice, and every one stopped to listen. 

"The law, Mr. Thorndike, is not vindictive, " he said. "It wishes onlyto be just. Nor can it be swayed by wealth or political or socialinfluences. But when there is good in a man, I, personally, want to knowit, and when gentlemen like yourself, of your standing in this city, come here to speak a good word for a man, we would stultify the purposeof justice if we did not listen. I thank you for coming, and I wish moreof our citizens were as unselfish and public-spirited. "

It was all quite absurd and most embarrassing, but inwardly Mr. Thorndike glowed with pleasure. It was a long time since any one hadhad the audacity to tell him he had done well. From the friends of Spearthere was a ripple of applause, which no tipstaff took it upon himselfto suppress, and to the accompaniment of this, Mr. Thorndike walked tothe corridor. He was pleased with himself and with his fellow-men. Heshook hands with Isaacs & Sons, and congratulated them upon their publicspirit, and the type-writer firm upon their public spirit. And then hesaw Spear standing apart regarding him doubtfully. 

Spear did not offer his hand, but Mr. Thorndike took it, and shook it, and said: "I want to meet your mother. "

And when Mrs. Spear tried to stop sobbing long enough to tell him howhappy she was, and how grateful, he instead told her what a fine son shehad, and that he remembered when Spear used to carry flowers to town forher. And she remembered it, too, and thanked him for the flowers. Andhe told Spear, when Isaacs & Sons went bankrupt, which at the rate theywere giving away their money to the Hebrew Hospital would be very soon, Spear must come back to him. And Isaacs & Sons were delighted at thegreat man's pleasantry, and afterward repeated it many times, callingupon each other to bear witness, and Spear felt as though some one hadgiven him a new backbone, and Andrews, who was guiding Thorndike out ofthe building, was thinking to himself what a great confidence man hadbeen lost when Thorndike became a banker. 

The chief clerk and two bank messengers were waiting by the automobilewith written calls for help from the office. They pounced upon thebanker and almost lifted him into the car. 

"There's still time!" panted the chief clerk. 

"There is not!" answered Mr. Thorndike. His tone was rebellious, defiant. It carried all the authority of a spoiled child of fortune. "I've wasted most of this day, " he declared, "and I intend to waste therest of it. Andrews, " he called, "jump in, and I'll give you a lunch atSherry's. "

The vigilant protector of the public dashed back into the building. 

"Wait till I get my hat!" he called. 

As the two truants rolled up the avenue the spring sunshine warmed them, the sense of duties neglected added zest to their holiday, and young Mr. Andrews laughed aloud. 

Mr. Thorndike raised his eyebrows inquiringly. "I was wondering, " saidAndrews, "how much it cost you to keep Spear out of jail?"

"I don't care, " said the great man guiltily; "it was worth it. "