The Judge hesitated momentarily. Only the week before a persistent and fluent young female had talked him into the purchase of a set of “Lives of the Great Jurists,” the same to be paid for in thirty-five installments of two dollars each. Mrs. Baxter had pronounced the “Great Jurists” great humbugs, and her husband, although he pretended to find the “Lives” very interesting, was secretly inclined to agree with her. So he hesitated. The young woman, evidently noticing his hesitation, added:
“If you are engaged just now I shall wait. I came to see you on a matter of business, legal business.”
Judge Baxter tried to look as if no thought of his visitor's having another purpose had entered his mind.
“Oh, yes, certainly! Of course!” he said hastily, and added: “Will you walk in?”
She walked in—to the private office, that is—and the Judge, following her, closed the door. His clerk stared wistfully at his own side of that door for a full minute, then sighed heavily and resumed his work, which was copying a list of household effects belonging to a late lamented who had willed them, separately and individually, to goodness knew how many cousins, first, second, and third.
In the private office the Judge asked his visitor to be seated. She took the chair he brought forward. Then she said:
“You don't remember me, I think, Judge Baxter. I am Mary Lathrop.”
The Judge looked puzzled. The name sounded familiar, but he could not seem to identify its owner.
“Perhaps you would remember me if I told you my whole name,” suggested the latter. “I am Mary Augusta Lathrop. I think perhaps you used to call me Mary-'Gusta; most people did.”
Then the Judge remembered. His astonishment was great.