The title was still music to Holden’s ears, so he smiled encouragingly at the fat reporter. In an instant a bethumbed court calendar was shoved under his nose and the reportorial pencil questioned,
“Grafton against the Milling Companies? Are you in that? Say, what’s doing there to-day? Is it any good?”
The reportorial arm was slipped confidentially through his, and Holden thus accompanied threaded his way through the crowded rotunda of the County Court House.
“Hello—must be something up in Holden’s office. Look at that leech Plimpton glued to him!”
“Yes—Grafton against The Milling Companies.”
“Good Lord! Is that on? I might as well go back to the office then. We’ll never be reached to-day.”
“That’s right. We’re not ready, so thank goodness they’re ahead of us. It’s a dandy case,—wish we had it.”
“Think I’ll stay and hear the arguments.—Old man Harter’s in fine form, they say.”
So the managing clerks talked as they leaned against the walls of the rotunda or sat upon the railing of the “Well.”