Mr. Thorndike had risen, and, in farewell, was holding out his hand to Andrews. He turned, and across the court-room the eyes of the financier and the stenographer met. At the sight of the great man, Spear flushed crimson, and then his look of despair slowly disappeared; and into his eyes there came incredulously hope and gratitude. He turned his head suddenly to the wall.
Mr. Thorndike stood irresolute, and then sank back into his chair.
The first man in the line was already at the railing, and the questions put to him by the judge were being repeated to him by the other assistant district attorney and a court attendant. His muttered answers were in turn repeated to the judge.
“Says he’s married, naturalized citizen, Lutheran Church, die-cutter by profession.”
The probation officer, her hands filled with papers, bustled forward and whispered.
“Mrs. Austin says,” continued the district attorney, “she’s looked into this case, and asks to have the man turned over to her. He has a wife and three children; has supported them for five years.”
“Is the wife in court?” the judge said.
A thin, washed-out, pretty woman stood up, and clasped her hands in front of her.
“Has this man been a good husband to you, madam?” asked the young judge.
The woman broke into vehement assurances. No man could have been a better husband. Would she take him back? Indeed she would take him back. She held out her hands as though she would physically drag her husband from the pillory.