Mr. Carter smiled broadly.
“Think so? I wouldn’t like to say that. William’s done well, Payson tells me; he said so a month or two ago. They’re all pleased with the way he handled things abroad.”
“Eh?” the judge cocked a humorous eyebrow. “I thought the most William did over there was—to get married!”
Mr. Carter met his eye, faltered, and groaned. The judge laughed.
“You don’t appreciate Dan. Now, as I was saying—”
He stopped with his mouth open. A horse came down the main street at a hard gallop. There was a distinct sensation. The drivers of passing vehicles sat sidewise; a string of little half-dressed pickaninnies streamed along the edge of the sidewalk in eager but hopeless pursuit. A street-car that had stopped at the crossing failed to go on because conductor and motorman were gaping after the vision.
Riding cross-saddle, in the latest extreme of fashion, was young Mrs. William Carter. The apparition would have startled them at any time, but the lady was already famous, and her progress might be viewed somewhat in the light of a Roman triumph.
Very pale, her dark eyes shining and her lips compressed, Fanchon struck her steed sharply with her riding-crop. The horse, a spirited young bay, came on at a gallop, with the clatter of maddened hoofs, followed by the stream of pursuing children and their wild shouts of applause. In this fashion Fanchon dashed past Judge Jessup and Mr. Carter and disappeared in a cloud of dust on the highroad.
A comet could scarcely have had a more startling effect. Mr. Carter said nothing, but his color became apoplectic. He stared after her for a minute, and then, with a set face, he turned to the judge.
“What were you saying? Oh, I remember—yes, yes, I’ll come in to-morrow and hear Dan address the jury,” he said hastily.