“Mr. Wicker. Hat calls him that, because he never lets go 'til it thunders. Aren't you coming in the parlor?”
“No, I'll give Wick the field to-night. I want to see your Father on business.”
“That sounds interesting!” said Connie audaciously. “You might have spoken to me first!”
The Doctor was preparing to go up to bed when Donald entered the sitting-room, but he put down his candle and greeted him warmly.
“A phenix rising from his ashes!” he said. “I am glad to see that you have survived the trials of the past ten days. It is very kind of you to come over in the midst of your trouble to welcome us to our new quarters. You are not going to leave us, my dear?” this to Miss Lady who had risen at Donald's entrance.
“I was going to get your beef-tea.”
“Oh, to be sure. I can't begin to tell you, Donald, how much I regret the decision in your case. How did it happen?”
Donald, whose hungry eyes were devouring every familiar detail of the homely fire-lit room, shrugged his shoulders. “Eleven jury-men were for acquittal, I am told, and the twelfth, a fellow named Jock Hibben talked them over.”
“Jock Hibben? I know the man. A radical Socialist who has been giving us some trouble at the university. Quite an orator, I believe, but a fanatic. You have made a motion for a new trial?”
“It has been refused.”