“Good Lord—man, don’t get mussy just when everything’s in our own hands. We’ve got to push it through now or never. Why—damn it,” he whispered fiercely, “don’t you understand we can’t defend this case? We’ve got to bluff her out!”
The word “we” stung Sargent as though someone had slapped his face. Yet he was associated with this man. Associated for what purpose—to do what? His client’s angry outburst had made it plain enough.
Fenton saw the glance of scorn in his lawyer’s eyes.
“I’ll be my own attorney then—and a damn sight better one,” he muttered and turned toward the group at the other end of the table.
“Well, now, let’s have the children—Come, kids.”
He rose and took a step forward. As he did so his wife sprang to her feet and faced him. He stopped with an uneasy laugh before the splendid figure of the woman drawn up to her full height, and met her measured look of courage and contempt. Then he turned again toward his counsel, speaking in an ugly undertone.
“See here, Sargent, I’m not going to make a fool of myself before all these people. Get the officers to bring the children out to the carriage.”
But Sargent did not reply, and for a moment there was dead silence in the Court Room.
Fenton stooped toward his counsel.
“What do you think you’re paid for?” he whispered menacingly.