It was a mark of the later and larger development of David Kent that he was able to keep his head in the moment of catastrophes. In boyhood his hair had been a brick-dust red, and having the temperament which belongs of right to the auburn-hued, his first impulse was to face about and make a personal matter of the legal robbery with Judge MacFarlane.
Happily for all concerned, Hunnicott's better counsels prevailed, and when the anger fit passed Kent found himself growing cool and determined. Hunnicott was crestfallen and disposed to be apologetic; but Kent did him justice.
"Don't blame yourself: there was nothing else you could have done. Have you a stenographer in your office?"
"Yes."
"A good one?"
"It's young Perkins: you know him."
"He'll do. 'Phone him to run down to the station and get what telegrams there are for me, and we'll talk as we go."
Once free of the Court House, Kent began a rapid-fire of questions.
"Where is Judge MacFarlane stopping?"
"At the Mid-Continent."