friends; Isaacs & Sons are here, and the type-writer firm who taught
him; but what YOU say will help most. It won't be more than a couple of
hours now."

"A couple of hours!" Mr. Thorndike raged inwardly. A couple of hours
in this place where he had been publicly humiliated. He smiled, a
thin, shark-like smile. Those who made it their business to study his
expressions, on seeing it, would have fled. Young Andrews, not being
acquainted with the moods of the great man, added cheerfully: "By one
o'clock, anyway."

Mr. Thorndike began grimly to pull on his gloves. For all he cared now
young Spear could go hang. Andrews nudged his elbow.

"See that old lady in the front row?" he whispered. "That's Mrs. Spear.
What did I tell you; mothers are all alike. She's not taken her eyes off
you since court opened. She knows you're her one best bet."

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.