of his visit. With a deprecatory laugh, he explained why he had come.
But the outburst of approbation he had anticipated did not follow.

The district attorney ran his finger briskly down a printed card.
"Henry Spear," he exclaimed, "that's your man. Part Three, Judge Fallon.
Andrews is in that court." He walked to the door of his private office.
"Andrews!" he called.

He introduced an alert, broad-shouldered young man of years of much
indiscretion and with a charming and inconsequent manner.

"Mr. Thorndike is interested in Henry Spear, coming up for sentence
in Part Three this morning. Wants to speak for him. Take him over with
you."

The district attorney shook hands quickly, and retreated to his private
office. Mr. Andrews took out a cigarette and, as he crossed the floor,
lit it.

"Come with me," he commanded. Somewhat puzzled, slightly annoyed, but
enjoying withal the novelty of the environment and the curtness of his
reception, Mr. Thorndike followed. He decided that, in his ignorance, he
had wasted his own time and that of the prosecuting attorney. He should
at once have sent in his card to the judge. As he understood it, Mr.
Andrews was now conducting him to that dignitary, and, in a moment, he
would be free to return to his own affairs, which were the affairs of
two continents. But Mr. Andrews led him to an office, bare and small,
and offered him a chair, and handed him a morning newspaper. There
were people waiting in the room; strange people, only like those Mr.
Thorndike had seen on ferry-boats. They leaned forward toward young Mr.