"There, old man!" he exclaimed. "What do you think of that? Something of a sendoff, eh?" And he pointed to a rather stout and important gentleman in the foreground. "That's me!" he said proudly, "and they wouldn't do that for Farquhar Fenelon Cooke in Philadelphia."
"A prophet is without honor in his own country," I remarked.
"I don't set up for a prophet," said Mr. Cooke, "but I did predict that I would start a ripple here, didn't I?"
I did not deny this.
"How do I stand over there?" he inquired, designating Asquith by a twist of the head. "I hear they're acting all over the road; that they think I'm the very devil."
"Well, your stock has dropped some, I admit," I answered. "They didn't take kindly to your getting the judge drunk, you know."
"They oughtn't to complain about that," said my client; "and besides, he wasn't drunk enough to amount to anything."
"However that may be," said I, "you have the credit for leading him astray. But there is a split in your favor."
"I'm glad to know that," he said, brightening; "then I won't have to import any more."
"Any more what?" I asked.