"Oh, I wouldn't do that," soothed the legal veteran, his face twinkling.
"All right. Bring him here and I'll tell him."
"Even though he is Little Miss Grouch's father?"
"What!"
"Precisely. Now, will you go to him?"
"No."
"When you employ one of the highest-priced counsel in America," observed the old man plaintively, "while it isn't essential that you should receive his advice with any degree of courtesy—"
"I really beg your pardon, Judge Enderby. The fact is, my temper has been a little ruffled—"
"Calm it down until you need it again and come with me." The judge tucked an arm under the Tyro's, who presently found himself being studied by a handsomely grim face, somewhat humanized by an occasional twinge of pain. The owner of the face acknowledged Judge Enderby's introduction and waited. The Tyro likewise acknowledged Judge Enderby's introduction and waited. Mr. Wayne was waiting for the Tyro to apologize. The Tyro hadn't the faintest notion of apologizing, and, had he known that it was expected, would have been more exasperated than before, since he considered himself the aggrieved party. Finding silence unproductive, the magnate presently broke it.
"You were going in after that woman?"