"
Impatiently Mr. Thorndike raised his head. He saw a little, white-haired
woman who stared at him. In her eyes was the same look he had seen in
the eyes of men who, at times of panic, fled to him, beseeching,
entreating, forcing upon him what was left of the wreck of their
fortunes, if only he would save their honor.
"And here come the prisoners," Andrews whispered. "See Spear? Third man
from the last." A long line, guarded in front and rear, shuffled into
the court-room, and, as ordered, ranged themselves against the wall.
Among them were old men and young boys, well dressed, clever-looking
rascals, collarless tramps, fierce-eyed aliens, smooth-shaven,
thin-lipped Broadwayards--and Spear.
Spear, his head hanging, with lips white and cheeks ashen, and his eyes
heavy with shame.
Mr. Thorndike had risen, and, in farewell, was holding out his hand to
Andrews. He turned, and across the court-room the eyes of the financier
and the stenographer met. At the sight of the great man, Spear flushed
crimson, and then his look of despair slowly disappeared; and into his
eyes there came incredulously hope and gratitude.
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