A dead silence succeeded his departure. None of the younger men ventured a word. Finally Judge Girvin, with a belated idea of upholding the honour of the bench, turned to Keith.
"Judge Caldwell's humour is a little trying at times, but he is essentially sound."
The young Englishman, Morrell, uttered a high cackle.
"Quite right," he observed; "he'll fix it all right for you, Markle."
At the bad taste of what they thought an example of English stupidity every one sat aghast. Keith managed to cover the situation by ordering another round of drinks. Morrell seemed quite pleased with himself.
"Got a rise out of the old Johnny, what?" he remarked to Keith aside.
Judge Caldwell returned. The conversation became general. Vast projects were discussed with the light touch—public works, the purchase of a theatre for the town hall, the sale by auction of city or state lands, the extension of wharves, the granting of franchises, and many other affairs, involving, apparently, millions of money. All these things were spoken of as from the inside. Keith, sipping his drinks quietly, sat apart and listened. He felt himself in the current of big affairs. Occasionally, men sauntered by, paused a moment. Keith noticed that they greeted his companions with respect and deference. He experienced a feeling of being at the centre of things. The evening drifted by pleasantly.
Along toward midnight, John Sherwood, without a hat, stopped long enough to exchange a few joking remarks, then sauntered on.
"I know him," Keith told Calhoun Bennett. "That's John Sherwood. He's at our hotel. What does he do?"
"Oh, don't you know who he is?" replied Bennett. "He's the owner of this place."