He went quietly to the door, opened it, looked out, and closed it softly.
Then he looked out of the window.
"Have a care of this man Bass," he said, in a lower voice. "He began many years ago by debauching the liberties of that little town of Coniston, and since then he has gradually debauched the whole state, judges and all. If I have a case to try" (he spoke now with more intensity and bitterness), "concerning my mills, or my bank, before I get through I find that rascal mixed up in it somewhere, and unless I arrange matters with him, I—"
He paused abruptly, his eyes going out of the window, pointing with a long finger at a grizzled man crossing the street with a yellow and red horse blanket thrown over his shoulders.
"That man, Judge Baker, holding court in this town now, Bass owns body and soul."
"And the horse blanket?" Wetherell queried, irresistibly.
Dudley Worthington did not smile.
"Take my advice, Mr. Wetherell, and pay off that note somehow." An odor of the stable pervaded the room, and a great unkempt grizzled head and shoulders, horse blanket and all, were stuck into it.
"Mornin', Dudley," said the head, "busy?"
"Come right in, Judge," answered Mr. Worthington. "Never too busy to see you." The head disappeared.
"Take my advice, Mr. Wetherell."