A portly, white-haired man, yet with a fresh, young-looking face, had just stepped onto the pier and came toward them. He was judge of the probate court over at Nantucket.
“Good morning, gentlemen,” he greeted pleasantly. Then, by a nod, he drew Lawyer Crane toward him, though the judge spoke loudly enough for the rest to hear.
“Are you going to have a case to bring before me to-day, Mr. Crane?”
“Provided we can find young Theodore Dunstan in time, your honor,” answered the lawyer. “Our search has been unceasing.”
“I wish you the utmost measure of good fortune, then,” replied Judge Swan. “Under the terms of the will, as I understand them, this is the last day of grace that you have. But remember, court will be open up to the minute of four this afternoon.”
Mr. Crane thanked his honor. Every hearer present, however, realized that Judge Swan had answered, as far as his dignity and official position permitted, how any appeal for postponement must be answered from the bench. The motion would be denied.
The justice turned to stroll apart from the rest, but the lawyer kept at his side.
“Judge,” he asked in an undertone, “since you know the whole of our painful predicament, can you offer me any suggestion?”
“The most I can say, because it is the most I am able to say,” murmured the judge, “is that I sincerely trust that Mr. Dunstan and yourself will be able to produce young Theodore in court before four o’clock this afternoon.”
They soon turned, strolling back to the group.