"Maybe it is," he said dryly. "But I can't see him now, I'm busy."
* * * * *
Slowly the long line of derelicts, of birds of prey, of sorry, weak
failures, passed before the seat of judgment. Mr. Thorndike had moved
into a chair nearer to the rail, and from time to time made a note upon
the back of an envelope. He had forgotten the time or had chosen to
disregard it. So great was his interest that he had forgotten the
particular derelict he had come to serve, until Spear stood almost at
his elbow.
Thorndike turned eagerly to the judge, and saw that he was listening to
a rotund, gray little man with beady, bird-like eyes who, as he talked,
bowed and gesticulated. Behind him stood a younger man, a more modern
edition of the other. He also bowed and, behind gold eye-glasses, smiled
ingratiatingly.
The judge nodded, and leaning forward, for a few moments fixed his eyes
upon the prisoner.
"You are a very fortunate young man," he said. He laid his hand upon a
pile of letters. "When you were your own worst enemy, your friends came
to help you. These letters speak for you; your employers, whom you
robbed, have pleaded with me in your favor.
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