"Now look here, Wilkinson, we've appealed this case, and we've filed a bond, and you're out on bail...."
"And we'll win out on appeal?"
"I was about to remark," went on the lawyer, quietly, "that your case will go first to the Appellate Division, then to the Court of Appeals, then—maybe to the United States Supreme Court. Then a few certificates of reasonable doubt, motions, stays, etc. It will take months, months, even if they rush it through. There's no hurry about discussing it; we can take our time."
Wilkinson was about to speak, but Morehead raised his hand.
"Since we're talking business, Peter, I may as well get to it, so that you can enjoy your pleasure afterward." He got up, yawned and stretched himself. Then looking Peter straight in the eye, he added: "What I wanted to impress upon you is, that after our last card is played, this conviction and this sentence are going to be——"
"Reversed, as sure as guns!" cried out Wilkinson.
"This conviction and this sentence," went on the lawyer, ignoring the interruption, "will be affirmed." And so saying he leaned back in his chair and puffed away contentedly. A moment later he added: "Now, Peter, business is over, let's enjoy ourselves. What do you call that thing yonder—a schooner or a hermaphrodite brig?"
His wealthy client swaggered to the fore once more.
"Do you mean to tell me that a man who's worth a hundred million is actually going to serve ten years in State's Prison at hard labour? That's nonsense!"