Rainbow Lake is pretty in the daytime, but it is beautiful under the
moonlight when you can stretch out distances and imagine that the lights
at Bagley's Landing are those of a city twenty miles away, and when the
solid pine groves on Maple and Government islands loom up big and black.
The Judge was enjoying his vacation the better for its lateness. He had
bolted his supper early enough to secure his favorite chair in the best
part of the piazza: a mandolin orchestra was playing a waltz from "The
Serenade," and playing it well, the Judge thought. He threw away the match
with which he had lighted his third cigar--to keep off the mosquitoes, he
blandly told his conscience--and leaned back in the Morris chair, thinking
how congruously comfortable it all was, now that he had his own clothes
and the 'bus man could work without soiling his other suit.

A clerk came out of the office, peered about in the half light for a
moment, and approached the Judge, touching him on the shoulder.

"Judge Black," he said, "Truesdale wants to talk to you on the 'phone."

Five minutes later the legal luminary came out of the telephone box. He
was swearing earnestly, but softly, out of deference to the
candy-and-cigar girl. He walked slowly across the office.

"There's a train for Chicago at 8.30, isn't there?" he asked.

"Yes," said the clerk. "Do you want to take it?"

There was another pianissimo interlude, at the end of which the clerk was
given to understand that he should order the 'bus for that train. Then the
Judge went back for his chair, but it was occupied by a little girl who
was just too old to be asked to sit somewhere else.