“You've got to take charge, Paret, and get a rehearing. See Bering, and find out who in the deuce is to blame for this. Chesley's one, of course. We ought never to have permitted his nomination for the Supreme Bench. It was against my judgment, but Varney and Gill assured me that he was all right.”
I saw Judge Bering that evening. We sat on a plush sofa in the parlour of his house in Baker Street.
“I had a notion Gorse'd be mad,” he said, “but it looked to me as if they had it on us, Paret. I didn't see how we could do anything else but affirm without being too rank. Of course, if he feels that way, and you want to make a motion for a rehearing, I'll see what can be done.”
“Something's got to be done,” I replied. “Can't you see what such a decision lets them in for?”
“All right,” said the judge, who knew an order when he heard one, “I guess we can find an error.” He was not a little frightened by the report of Mr. Gorse's wrath, for election-day was approaching. “Say, you wouldn't take me for a sentimental man, now, would you?”
I smiled at the notion of it.
“Well, I'll own up to you this kind of got under my skin. That Galligan is a fine-looking fellow, if there ever was one, and he'll never be of a bit of use any more. Of course the case was plain sailing, and they ought to have had the verdict, but that lawyer of his handled it to the queen's taste, if I do say so. He made me feel real bad, by God,—as if it was my own son Ed who'd been battered up. Lord, I can't forget the look in that man Galligan's eyes. I hate to go through it again, and reverse it, but I guess I'll have to, now.”
The Judge sat gazing at the flames playing over his gas log.
“Who was the lawyer?” I asked.
“A man by the name of Krebs,” he replied. “Never heard of him before. He's just moved to the city.”