This was the nature of the creature who strode into Judge Baronet's private office, slamming the door behind him and presenting himself unannounced. The windows front the street leading down to where the trail crossed the river, and give a view of the glistening Neosho winding down the valley. My father was standing by one of these windows when Judson fired himself into the room. John Baronet's mind was not on Springvale, nor on the river. His thoughts were of his son and of her who had borne him, the sweet-browed woman whose image was in the sacredest shrine of his heart.
Judson's advent was ill-timed, and his excessive lack of tact made the matter worse.
"Mr. Baronet," he began pompously enough, "I must see you on a very grave matter, very grave indeed."
Judge Baronet gave him a chair and sat down across the table from him to listen. Judson had grated harshly on his mood, but he was a man of poise.
"I'll be brief and blunt. That's what you lawyers want, ain't it?" The little man giggled. "But I must advise this step at once as a necessary, a very necessary one."
My father waited. Judson hadn't the penetration to feel embarrassed.
"You see it's like this. If you'll just keep still a minute I can show you, though I ain't no lawyer; I'm a man of affairs, a commercialist, as you would say. A producer maybe is a better term. In short, I'm a money-maker."
My father smiled. "I see," he remarked. "I'll keep still. Go on."
"Well, now, I'm a widower that has provided handsome for my first wife's remains. I've earned and paid for the right to forget her."
The great broad-shouldered, broad-minded man before the little boaster looked down to hide his contempt.