“Thank you. Good-bye.”
Martin glanced lazily at the papers Allison tossed into his lap. Phelps vs. Orson? What number was it on the calendar? He pulled the Law Journal out of his pocket and consulted the list of “motions.” Twenty-second case? Good lord—Allison had buncoed him! If he argued that motion he’d have to stay in the stuffy Court Room all morning. But he wouldn’t argue it—he’d give the papers to Van, and let him hand them up to the Court when the case was called. Martin stuffed the documents into his pocket, and lolling back in his chair, tried to regain those scenes from which Allison had rudely torn him. To further this, he rested his head in his hand and closed his eyes. But try as he might, he could not again rid himself of his surroundings, for there was more movement all over the room as the waiting crowd grew restless, and directly back of him two men whispered with maddening persistency. For a time Martin tried to fuse their sibilants into the general buzz, but failing in this, began to listen to their conversation. In a few seconds he ceased to hear any of the other sounds going on about him.
—“Then Van doesn’t know,” one of the men asserted. “I tell you Colton’s ill and he’s been assigned to take his place. He’s never sat here before? Well, of course not. That’s just the point. You’ve got a head like a tack! Now listen to what I say, and, for God’s sake, don’t make a mess of it. The order’s in a green cover like this——
The speaker paused and Martin almost turned, but checked himself in time.
“No, there ain’t many this colour.—You can’t miss it if you keep awake. It’ll be handed to Van sometime before recess. When he gives it to His Nibs you watch it like a cat, and the minute he signs it make for the telephone and notify ’em at the office. They’ll keep the wire open. Now d’ye think you’ve got sense enough to work this thing straight?”
The other man made no response, but probably nodded, for his companion continued:
“All right then. I’m o double f. But remember if you botch it, you’ll be wanting a new job.”
The speaker rose and passed before Martin, who languidly glanced at him and then strolled into the Rotunda. Mullin the process-server stood, as usual, near the door. Martin touched his arm.
“Mullin,” he began, “didn’t you want to bet me a few days ago that you knew every man who entered this Court House?”