Thorndike,
they laughed and talked together. The subject of their discourse was one
Mike Donlin, as he appeared in vaudeville.
To Mr. Thorndike it was evident that young Andrews had entirely
forgotten him. He arose, and touched his sleeve. With infinite sarcasm
Mr. Thorndike began: "My engagements are not pressing, but--"
A court attendant beat with his palm upon the rail.
"Sit down!" whispered Andrews. "The judge is coming."
Mr. Thorndike sat down.
The court attendant droned loudly words Mr. Thorndike could not
distinguish. There was a rustle of silk, and from a door behind him the
judge stalked past. He was a young man, the type of the Tammany
politician. On his shrewd, alert, Irish-American features was an
expression of unnatural gloom. With a smile Mr. Thorndike observed that
it was as little suited to the countenance of the young judge as was the
robe to his shoulders. Mr. Thorndike was still smiling when young
Andrews leaned over the rail.
"Stand up!" he hissed. Mr. Thorndike stood up.
After the court attendant had uttered more unintelligible words, every
one sat down; and the financier again moved hurriedly to the rail.
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