The door opened, and they stumbled into the ante-room, from which escape was impossible.
"Dink," said McNab in a last whisper.
"What?"
"Don't ask twice for soup, and stop shooting that cuff."
The next moment Stover, who had been thrust forward by the other two, found himself crossing the perilous track of slippery rugs on slippery floors, and suddenly the cynosure of at least a hundred eyes.
Judge Story had him by the hand, patting him on the back, smiling up at him with a smile he never forgot—a little lithe man bristling with good humor and the genius of good cheer.
"Stover, I'm glad to shake your hand. We did all we could for you in those last rushes. We rooted hard. My wife assaulted a clergyman in front of her, and my daughter was found afterward weeping with her arms around the man next to her. I certainly am proud to shake your hand. I won't shake it too long, because"—here he looked up in a confidential whisper—"because the girls have been fidgeting at the window for an hour. Look them over and tell me which one you want to sit next to you, and I'll fix it."
"Dad, aren't you awful?" said a voice in only laughing disapproval.
"My daughter," said the judge, passing joyfully on to Hungerford.