“Again? I thought we had agreed not to discuss Judge Rossmore any further?”
“I can't help it, sir,” rejoined Jefferson undeterred by his sire's hostile attitude, “that poor old man is practically on trial for his life. He is as innocent of wrongdoing as a child unborn, and you know it. You could save him if you would.”
“Jefferson,” answered Ryder, Sr., biting his lip to restrain his impatience, “I told you before that I could not interfere even if I would; and I won't, because that man is my enemy. Important business interests, which you cannot possibly know anything about, demand his dismissal from the bench.”
“Surely your business interests don't demand the sacrifice of a man's life!” retorted Jefferson. “I know modern business methods are none too squeamish, but I should think you'd draw the line at deliberate murder!”
Ryder sprang to his feet and for a moment stood glaring at the young man. His lips moved, but no sound came from them. Suppressed wrath rendered him speechless. What was the world coming to when a son could talk to his father in this manner?
“How dare you presume to judge my actions or to criticise my methods?” he burst out; finally.
“You force me to do so,” answered Jefferson hotly. “I want to tell you that I am heartily ashamed of this whole affair and your connection with it, and since you refuse to make reparation in the only way possible for the wrong you and your associates have done Judge Rossmore—that is by saving him in the Senate—I think it only fair to warn you that I take back my word in regard to not marrying without your consent. I want you to know that I intend to marry Miss Rossmore as soon as she will consent to become my wife, that is,” he added with bitterness, “if I can succeed in overcoming her prejudices against my family—”
Ryder, Sr. laughed contemptuously.
“Prejudices against a thousand million dollars?” he exclaimed sceptically.