The Man with the Wooden Spectacles. Harry Stephen Keeler

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СКАЧАТЬ Moffit stroked his chin troubledly.

      “But that—that wasn’t the favor I wanted, Judge! No!

      The favor I want, concerns, in one resp—er—rather several —a relat—”

      “Oh!” And one could see light breaking through Penworth’s brain! “Surely—your son Saul hasn’t been readmitted to the Bar?—and—you want me to appoint him to help Vann tonight as Assistant Pros—”

      “No!” Silas Moffit actually shouted the word. And his eyes blazed. “That dirty goddam—excuse me, Judge—what I meant to say is: that filthy bastar—please, Judge, excuse me again—my—my blood pressure—hrmph—I wouldn’t want you to give that rat a job sweeping out your courtroom. And he hasn’t been re-admitted to the Bar—and never will be. For he’s a damned, lousy, stinking—”

      “Moffit! Calm yourself!”

      “For—forgive me, Judge. When I get on the subject of that rat, I—”

      “Rat? But good heavens, Mr. Moffit, he’s your own blood, and so you’re only calling yours—”

      “Rat he is!” Silas Moffit almost shouted. “A dunghill rat who—”

      “Well, I have heard of eyes blazing, Mr. Moffit,” declared Penworth grimly, “but never have I seen them do it—until this moment. Well—I’m glad that you’re not asking anything for Saul Moffit. Because he’s been—er—washed up here in Chicago for years—I’ve even heard, to be frank, rumors that some woman keeps him; and he’s a classical example of a man who has done an ‘inverse skyrocket’—all the way from the top of life, to the bottom.

      Though I can’t understand why you hold that against him—however—” He shrugged his shoulders helplessly.

      “Family feuds—are bad things! Well—” He paused.

      “—we get back again—to this favor you wanted. Which, you stated, was remotely connected with—but exactly what does the favor directly concern—and directly involve?”

      “Well—ah—er—Judge,” Silas Moffit stammered, “the favor I want concerns the—the defendant—ahem—the defense—and—”

      “Concerns—the defendant?” And the Judge’s face darkened. “Moffit! How dare—but what is that favor? Speak?”

      And in Penworth’s voice came that tone which boded ill—and severe ill—for any human being who should attempt ever to try getting at the robes of the Blind Goddess with the Scales. He gazed at Silas Moffit sternly. Waiting!

      Ever waiting!

      And Silas Moffit wiggled in his chair. As a man on the spot! And licked his lips helplessly with his tongue.

      CHAPTER IV

      Mr. Silas Moffit Drives a Bargain!

      “Well, Judge,” Silas Moffit said, after an embarrassing pause, “Mr. Vann as much as told me that this trial will just be a formality at best—that it’s cut and dried as to its verdict—the fellow being hawgtied, so to speak, at every angle. So hopelessly—as I could see right then—that—as I gathered even then—Mr. Vann considered the fellow a fool not to have confessed—and taken a life sentence, which would automatically bring him parole in 33 years, Now, however, so even Mr. Vann implied—the fellow’s in for the chair, and—but again forgive me, Judge, since all this suggests a decision on your part that hasn’t yet been rendered. And nobody in all Chicago but knows that you make your own decisions—and always have. And that they’re not only 100 per cent just, but 101 per cent so!—and 101 per cent legal to boot!” Silas Moffit saw that stern face relaxing a bit. And hurried on. “Anyway, Judge, to get back to the point between us, the moment Mr. Vann told me of this case, it occurred to me: why—here is exactly the kind of case where my niece ought to get her courtroom baptism.”

      “Your niece? Who is your niece?”

      “Elsa Colby is her name, Judge. She’s a graduate in law—Northwestern U—just finished early last month because of having a final course to take in the summer school. She specialized in criminal law—but has never had a case.”

      “Elsa Colby, eh? Yes—I think I remember that name—on the last docket of the young lawyers newly admitted to the Bar. Well—but specializing—so early in the game?

      That’s rank foolhardyism, isn’t it? It seems to me that—but what does the girl do all day? Twiddle her thumbs—in her office?”

      “Mighty near, Judge. She keeps busy—embroidering a quilt laid out on a rack covering nearly one wall of her office. Which is in the old Ulysses S. Grant Building.

      Though I doubt if she’s got enough money to buy the colored silks to complete the—the northwest corner of the fool quilt. But anyway, Judge, my favor is this: I would like you to appoint Elsa to defend this fellow—this fellow—whom Mr. Vann nabbed; and, Judge, if you’ll do that, I’ll renew the mortgage on this place. And for 5 years, Judge. Which length of time will surely bring your improvement through. That, Judge, is how much I think of Elsa—and how much I want to see her get her baptismal fire, so to speak.”

      “Hm? Well how old is she?”

      “24, Judge.”

      “24, eh? Well—is she a good bright girl?”

      “Well—she won a Phi Beta Kappa key—it’s something you get in college only when—”

      “Yes, I know,” nodded Penworth. “That means she stood over go in all her studies—bar none!”

      “Then, Judge, would you be willing—to give Elsa the appointment—as defender of this fellow?”

      Judge Penworth laughed a bit mirthlessly. Yet appeared to be tremendously relieved. “Good God, Moffit, considering that that’s all you ask—and that it has nothing whatsoever to do with my own rulings and decisions on this fellow tonight—and that I haven’t been able to find a single mortgage company in all Chicago that will look at a renewal here—I’m willing to appoint the devil himself! Particularly since—if you’d gone to Mike Shurely first—he’d have doubtlessly begged me, as a personal favor to him, to appoint her. Yes—sure—I’ll appoint her. I’m waiting a telephonic call-back now from a lawyer whom I had in mind to appoint—but, when he calls, I’ll just say that what I had to say to him was off. Yes. Now what’s this girl’s phone number?”

      “It’s Dearborn 8722,” said Silas Moffit, with great haste.

      “And she’s always there. If by any chance she weren’t, however—well, you have my number, of course—and, at a word from you, I’ll round up her whereabouts for you.”

      “All—right! Dearborn—yes. 8722.” The Judge was enter­ing this data in a tiny notebook which, with fitted pencil, he apparently kept under his pillow. “And the name—Elsa Colby? Yes.” He closed his notebook. “Consider her, then, Mr. Moffit, appointed. Absolutely! And I feel quite free at appointing her, moreover, for the case really does appear to be but an academic formality. For the fellow is—at least from present considerations—mad to go to trial. But that, of course, is his funeral!”

      “Yes,” СКАЧАТЬ