The agate eyes of Mr. Brush Bascom flashed from the audience, and Mr. Nat
Billings bustled forward to shake Austen's hand. Nat was one of those who
called not infrequently upon the Honourable Hilary in Ripton, and had sat
on Austen's little table.

"Glad to see you, Austen," he cried, so that the people might hear; and
added, in a confidentially lower tone, "We lawyers understand that these
little things make no difference, eh?"

"I'm willing to agree to that if you are, Nat," Austen answered. He
looked at the lawyer's fleshy face, blue-black where it was shaven, and
at Mr. Billings' shifty eyes and mouth, which its muscles could not quite
keep in place. Mr. Billings also had nicked teeth. But he did his best to
hide these obvious disadvantages by a Falstaffian bonhomie,--for Mr.
Billings was growing stout.

"I tried it once or twice, my friend, when I was younger. It's noble, but
it don't pay," said Mr. Billings, still confidential. "Brush is
sour--look at him. But I understand how you feel. I'm the kind of feller
that speaks out, and what I can't understand is, why the old man let you
get into it."

"He knew you were going to be on the other side, Nat, and wanted to teach
me a lesson. I suppose it is folly to contest a case where the Railroad
Commission has completely exonerated your client," Austen added
thoughtfully.

Mr. Billings' answer was to wink, very slowly, with one eye; and shortly
after these pleasantries were over, the case was called. A fragrant wind
blew in at the open windows, and Nature outside was beginning to array