He could not help but appreciate the
dramatic qualities of the situation; that the richest man in Wall Street
should appear in person to plead for a humble and weaker brother. He
knew he could not escape recognition, his face was too well known, but,
he trusted, for the sake of Spear, the reporters would make no display
of his visit. With a deprecatory laugh, he explained why he had come.
But the outburst of approbation he had anticipated did not follow.
The district attorney ran his finger briskly down a printed card. "Henry
Spear," he exclaimed, "that's your man. Part Three, Judge Fallon.
Andrews is in that court." He walked to the door of his private office.
"Andrews!" he called.
He introduced an alert, broad-shouldered young man of years of much
indiscretion and with a charming and inconsequent manner.
"Mr. Thorndike is interested in Henry Spear, coming up for sentence in
Part Three this morning. Wants to speak for him. Take him over with
you."
The district attorney shook hands quickly, and retreated to his private
office. Mr. Andrews took out a cigarette and, as he crossed the floor,
lit it.
"Come with me," he commanded.
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