with his ready response; but for the rich, successful and those in power
he seemed to entertain a deep and enduring grudge. He would burn the
midnight oil with equal zest to block a crooked deal on the part of a
wealthy corporation or to devise a means to extricate some no less
crooked rascal from the clutches of the law, provided that the rascal
seemed the victim of hard luck, inheritance or environment. His
weather-beaten conscience was as elastic as his heart. Indeed when under
the expansive influence of a sufficient quantity of malt extract or
ancient brandy from the cellaret on his library desk he had sometimes
been heard to enunciate the theory that there was very little difference
between the people in jail and those who were not.

He would work weeks without compensation to argue the case of some
guilty rogue before the Court of Appeals, in order, as he said, to
"settle the law," when his only real object was to get the miserable
fellow out of jail and send him back to his wife and children. He went
through life with a twinkling eye and a quizzical smile, and when he did
wrong he did it--if such a thing is possible--in a way to make people
better. He was a dangerous adversary and judges were afraid of him, not
because he ever tricked or deceived them but because of the audacity and
novelty of his arguments which left them speechless. He had the
assurance that usually comes with age and with a lifelong knowledge of
human nature, yet apparently he had always been possessed of it.

Once a judge having assigned him to look out for the interests of a
lawyerless prisoner suggested that he take his new client into the
adjoining jury room and give him the best advice he could. Mr. Tutt was
gone so long that the judge became weary, and to find out what had
become of him sent an officer, who found the lawyer reading a newspaper
beside an open window, but no sign of the prisoner. In great excitement