“Don't lose your nerve,” said he, shaking me by the hand. “You are as safe as though you were in church. I'll crowd 'em, too, an' get this trial over inside of six weeks. By that time, if Foxy Billy is any good, we'll be ready to give the Chief some law business of his own.”
“One thing,” I said at parting; “my wife must not come here. I wouldn't have her see me in a cell to save my life.”
From the moment of my arrival at the Tombs, I had not ceased to think of Apple Cheek and her distress. Anne would do her best to comfort her; and for the rest—why! it must be borne. But I could not abide her seeing me a prisoner; not for her sake, but for my own.
“Well, good-by!” said young Morton, as he and Big Kennedy were taking themselves away. “You need give yourself no uneasiness. Remember, you are not only right, but rich; and when, pray, was the right, on being backed by riches, ever beaten down?”
“Or for that matter, the wrong either?” put in Big Kennedy sagely. “I've never seen money lose a fight.”
“Our friend,” said young Morton, addressing the warden, who had now returned, and speaking in a high superior vein, “is to have everything he wants. Here is my card. Remember, now, this gentleman is my friend; and it is not to my fancy, don't y' know, that a friend of mine should lack for anything; it isn't, really!”
As Big Kennedy and young Morton reached the door, I bethought me for the first time to ask the result of the election.
“Was your father successful?” I queried. “These other matters quite drove the election from my head.”
“Oh, yes,” drawled young Morton, “my father triumphed. I forget the phrase in which Mr. Kennedy described the method of his success, but it was highly epigrammatic and appropriate. How was it you said the old gentleman won?”
“I said that he won in a walk,” returned Big Kennedy. Then, suspiciously: “Say you aint guying me, be you?”