The lawyer was silent for a moment. Then he said thoughtfully:
"I could retain ex-Senator Wratchett—but he would ask twenty-five thousand dollars in advance. He's not as good a lawyer as Cooley, but he has more pull." Excitedly he went on: "Ah! that's what we want, Paula—political pull! My God! What a farce life is! When I was a minister of the Gospel I was a dreamer, howling for purity and truth. Now I'm awake, with my feet on the earth. I'm praying for a liar and a trickster to come and help us out—and cursing myself because I haven't the money to buy him——"
"Twenty-five thousand dollars!" she echoed helplessly. With a bitter laugh she went on: "I pawned my last ring this morning to pay Mrs. Parkes the money I owed her. You gave the Judge the whole history of the case—you told him how my uncle has deliberately stood in the way of my getting my rights for two years—you told him that he is my worst enemy?"
"Yes—everything."
"And yet he appointed him my custodian and guardian?"
The lawyer shrugged his shoulders. Dryly he replied:
"He belongs to the same political organization as Cooley. In this State," he went on, "in order to get the nomination, a judge or his friends are expected to contribute a large sum of money to the campaign fund—the idea is that he owes something to the men who pay that money for him, that he must show some gratitude to those who nominate and elect him—fine ethics, eh? I think I'll go back to the pulpit——"
"Can my uncle compel me to live with him?" demanded Paula.
"Yes," he replied. "I'm afraid so."
The girl jumped up, her hands clenched, her face flushed with anger. Hotly she cried: