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diff --git a/1820-h/1820-h.htm b/1820-h/1820-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a526f7b --- /dev/null +++ b/1820-h/1820-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,1134 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + A Wasted Day, by Richard Harding Davis + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of A Wasted Day, by Richard Harding Davis + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: A Wasted Day + +Author: Richard Harding Davis + +Release Date: May 12, 2006 [EBook #1820] +Last Updated: September 26, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A WASTED DAY *** + + + + +Produced by Don Lainson; David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h1> + A WASTED DAY + </h1> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + By Richard Harding Davis + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <p> + When its turn came, the private secretary, somewhat apologetically, laid + the letter in front of the Wisest Man in Wall Street. + </p> + <p> + “From Mrs. Austin, probation officer, Court of General Sessions,” he + explained. “Wants a letter about Spear. He’s been convicted of theft. + Comes up for sentence Tuesday.” + </p> + <p> + “Spear?” repeated Arnold Thorndike. + </p> + <p> + “Young fellow, stenographer, used to do your letters last summer going in + and out on the train.” + </p> + <p> + The great man nodded. “I remember. What about him?” + </p> + <p> + The habitual gloom of the private secretary was lightened by a grin. + </p> + <p> + “Went on the loose; had with him about five hundred dollars belonging to + the firm; he’s with Isaacs & Sons now, shoe people on Sixth Avenue. + Met a woman, and woke up without the money. The next morning he offered to + make good, but Isaacs called in a policeman. When they looked into it, + they found the boy had been drunk. They tried to withdraw the charge, but + he’d been committed. Now, the probation officer is trying to get the judge + to suspend sentence. A letter from you, sir, would—” + </p> + <p> + It was evident the mind of the great man was elsewhere. Young men who, + drunk or sober, spent the firm’s money on women who disappeared before + sunrise did not appeal to him. Another letter submitted that morning had + come from his art agent in Europe. In Florence he had discovered the + Correggio he had been sent to find. It was undoubtedly genuine, and he + asked to be instructed by cable. The price was forty thousand dollars. + With one eye closed, and the other keenly regarding the inkstand, Mr. + Thorndike decided to pay the price; and with the facility of long practice + dismissed the Correggio, and snapped his mind back to the present. + </p> + <p> + “Spear had a letter from us when he left, didn’t he?” he asked. “What he + has developed into, SINCE he left us—” he shrugged his shoulders. + The secretary withdrew the letter, and slipped another in its place. + </p> + <p> + “Homer Firth, the landscape man,” he chanted, “wants permission to use + blue flint on the new road, with turf gutters, and to plant silver firs + each side. Says it will run to about five thousand dollars a mile.” + </p> + <p> + “No!” protested the great man firmly, “blue flint makes a country place + look like a cemetery. Mine looks too much like a cemetery now. Landscape + gardeners!” he exclaimed impatiently. “Their only idea is to insult + nature. The place was better the day I bought it, when it was running + wild; you could pick flowers all the way to the gates.” Pleased that it + should have recurred to him, the great man smiled. “Why, Spear,” he + exclaimed, “always took in a bunch of them for his mother. Don’t you + remember, we used to see him before breakfast wandering around the grounds + picking flowers?” Mr. Thorndike nodded briskly. “I like his taking flowers + to his mother.” + </p> + <p> + “He SAID it was to his mother,” suggested the secretary gloomily. + </p> + <p> + “Well, he picked the flowers, anyway,” laughed Mr. Thorndike. “He didn’t + pick our pockets. And he had the run of the house in those days. As far as + we know,” he dictated, “he was satisfactory. Don’t say more than that.” + </p> + <p> + The secretary scribbled a mark with his pencil. “And the landscape man?” + </p> + <p> + “Tell him,” commanded Thorndike, “I want a wood road, suitable to a farm; + and to let the trees grow where God planted them.” + </p> + <p> + As his car slid downtown on Tuesday morning the mind of Arnold Thorndike + was occupied with such details of daily routine as the purchase of a + railroad, the Japanese loan, the new wing to his art gallery, and an + attack that morning, in his own newspaper, upon his pet trust. But his + busy mind was not too occupied to return the salutes of the traffic + policemen who cleared the way for him. Or, by some genius of memory, to + recall the fact that it was on this morning young Spear was to be + sentenced for theft. It was a charming morning. The spring was at full + tide, and the air was sweet and clean. Mr. Thorndike considered + whimsically that to send a man to jail with the memory of such a morning + clinging to him was adding a year to his sentence. He regretted he had not + given the probation officer a stronger letter. He remembered the young man + now, and favorably. A shy, silent youth, deft in work, and at other times + conscious and embarrassed. But that, on the part of a stenographer, in the + presence of the Wisest Man in Wall Street, was not unnatural. On + occasions, Mr. Thorndike had put even royalty—frayed, impecunious + royalty, on the lookout for a loan—at its ease. + </p> + <p> + The hood of the car was down, and the taste of the air, warmed by the sun, + was grateful. It was at this time, a year before, that young Spear picked + the spring flowers to take to his mother. A year from now where would + young Spear be? + </p> + <p> + It was characteristic of the great man to act quickly, so quickly that his + friends declared he was a slave to impulse. It was these same impulses, + leading so invariably to success, that made his enemies call him the + Wisest Man. He leaned forward and touched the chauffeur’s shoulder. “Stop + at the Court of General Sessions,” he commanded. What he proposed to do + would take but a few minutes. A word, a personal word from him to the + district attorney, or the judge, would be enough. He recalled that a + Sunday Special had once calculated that the working time of Arnold + Thorndike brought him in two hundred dollars a minute. At that rate, + keeping Spear out of prison would cost a thousand dollars. + </p> + <p> + Out of the sunshine Mr. Thorndike stepped into the gloom of an echoing + rotunda, shut in on every side, hung by balconies, lit, many stories + overhead, by a dirty skylight. The place was damp, the air acrid with the + smell of stale tobacco juice, and foul with the presence of many unwashed + humans. A policeman, chewing stolidly, nodded toward an elevator shaft, + and other policemen nodded him further on to the office of the district + attorney. There Arnold Thorndike breathed more freely. He was again among + his own people. He could not help but appreciate the dramatic qualities of + the situation; that the richest man in Wall Street should appear in person + to plead for a humble and weaker brother. He knew he could not escape + recognition, his face was too well known, but, he trusted, for the sake of + Spear, the reporters would make no display of his visit. With a + deprecatory laugh, he explained why he had come. But the outburst of + approbation he had anticipated did not follow. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + He introduced an alert, broad-shouldered young man of years of much + indiscretion and with a charming and inconsequent manner. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. Andrews, + fawning, their eyes wide with apprehension. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Thorndike refused the newspaper. “I thought I was going to see the + judge,” he suggested. + </p> + <p> + “Court doesn’t open for a few minutes yet,” said the assistant district + attorney. “Judge is always late, anyway.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Thorndike suppressed an exclamation. He wanted to protest, but his + clear mind showed him that there was nothing against which, with reason, + he could protest. He could not complain because these people were not + apparently aware of the sacrifice he was making. He had come among them to + perform a kindly act. He recognized that he must not stultify it by a show + of irritation. He had precipitated himself into a game of which he did not + know the rules. That was all. Next time he would know better. Next time he + would send a clerk. But he was not without a sense of humor, and the + situation as it now was forced upon him struck him as amusing. He laughed + good-naturedly and reached for the desk telephone. + </p> + <p> + “May I use this?” he asked. He spoke to the Wall Street office. He + explained he would be a few minutes late. He directed what should be done + if the market opened in a certain way. He gave rapid orders on many + different matters, asked to have read to him a cablegram he expected from + Petersburg, and one from Vienna. + </p> + <p> + “They answer each other,” was his final instruction. “It looks like + peace.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Andrews with genial patience had remained silent. Now he turned upon + his visitors. A Levantine, burly, unshaven, and soiled, towered + truculently above him. Young Mr. Andrews with his swivel chair tilted + back, his hands clasped behind his head, his cigarette hanging from his + lips, regarded the man dispassionately. + </p> + <p> + “You gotta hell of a nerve to come to see me,” he commented cheerfully. To + Mr. Thorndike, the form of greeting was novel. So greatly did it differ + from the procedure of his own office, that he listened with interest. + </p> + <p> + “Was it you,” demanded young Andrews, in a puzzled tone, “or your brother + who tried to knife me?” Mr. Thorndike, unaccustomed to cross the pavement + to his office unless escorted by bank messengers and plain-clothes men, + felt the room growing rapidly smaller; the figure of the truculent Greek + loomed to heroic proportions. The hand of the banker went vaguely to his + chin, and from there fell to his pearl pin, which he hastily covered. + </p> + <p> + “Get out!” said young Andrews, “and don’t show your face here—” + </p> + <p> + The door slammed upon the flying Greek. Young Andrews swung his swivel + chair so that, over his shoulder, he could see Mr. Thorndike. “I don’t + like his face,” he explained. + </p> + <p> + A kindly eyed, sad woman with a basket on her knee smiled upon Andrews + with the familiarity of an old acquaintance. + </p> + <p> + “Is that woman going to get a divorce from my son,” she asked, “now that + he’s in trouble?” + </p> + <p> + “Now that he’s in Sing Sing?” corrected Mr. Andrews. “I HOPE so! She + deserves it. That son of yours, Mrs. Bernard,” he declared emphatically, + “is no good!” + </p> + <p> + The brutality shocked Mr. Thorndike. For the woman he felt a thrill of + sympathy, but at once saw that it was superfluous. From the secure and + lofty heights of motherhood, Mrs. Bernard smiled down upon the assistant + district attorney as upon a naughty child. She did not even deign a + protest. She continued merely to smile. The smile reminded Thorndike of + the smile on the face of a mother in a painting by Murillo he had lately + presented to the chapel in the college he had given to his native town. + </p> + <p> + “That son of yours,” repeated young Andrews, “is a leech. He’s robbed you, + robbed his wife. Best thing I ever did for YOU was to send him up the + river.” + </p> + <p> + The mother smiled upon him beseechingly. + </p> + <p> + “Could you give me a pass?” she said. + </p> + <p> + Young Andrews flung up his hands and appealed to Thorndike. + </p> + <p> + “Isn’t that just like a mother?” he protested. “That son of hers has + broken her heart, tramped on her, cheated her; hasn’t left her a cent; and + she comes to me for a pass, so she can kiss him through the bars! And I’ll + bet she’s got a cake for him in that basket!” + </p> + <p> + The mother laughed happily; she knew now she would get the pass. + </p> + <p> + “Mothers,” explained Mr. Andrews, from the depth of his wisdom, “are all + like that; your mother, my mother. If you went to jail, your mother would + be just like that.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Thorndike bowed his head politely. He had never considered going to + jail, or whether, if he did, his mother would bring him cake in a basket. + Apparently there were many aspects and accidents of life not included in + his experience. + </p> + <p> + Young Andrews sprang to his feet, and, with the force of a hose flushing a + gutter, swept his soiled visitors into the hall. + </p> + <p> + “Come on,” he called to the Wisest Man, “the court is open.” + </p> + <p> + In the corridors were many people, and with his eyes on the broad + shoulders of the assistant district attorney, Thorndike pushed his way + through them. The people who blocked his progress were of the class + unknown to him. Their looks were anxious, furtive, miserable. They stood + in little groups, listening eagerly to a sharp-faced lawyer, or, in sullen + despair, eying each other. At a door a tipstaff laid his hand roughly on + the arm of Mr. Thorndike. + </p> + <p> + “That’s all right, Joe,” called young Mr. Andrews, “he’s with ME.” They + entered the court and passed down an aisle to a railed enclosure in which + were high oak chairs. Again, in his effort to follow, Mr. Thorndike was + halted, but the first tipstaff came to his rescue. “All right,” he + signalled, “he’s with Mr. Andrews.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Andrews pointed to one of the oak chairs. “You sit there,” he + commanded, “it’s reserved for members of the bar, but it’s all right. + You’re with ME.” + </p> + <p> + Distinctly annoyed, slightly bewildered, the banker sank between the arms + of a chair. He felt he had lost his individuality. Andrews had become his + sponsor. Because of Andrews he was tolerated. Because Andrews had a pull + he was permitted to sit as an equal among police-court lawyers. No longer + was he Arnold Thorndike. He was merely the man “with Mr. Andrews.” + </p> + <p> + Then even Andrews abandoned him. “The judge’ll be here in a minute, now,” + said the assistant district attorney, and went inside a railed enclosure + in front of the judge’s bench. There he greeted another assistant district + attorney whose years were those of even greater indiscretion than the + years of Mr. Andrews. Seated on the rail, with their hands in their + pockets and their backs turned to Mr. Thorndike, they laughed and talked + together. The subject of their discourse was one Mike Donlin, as he + appeared in vaudeville. + </p> + <p> + To Mr. Thorndike it was evident that young Andrews had entirely forgotten + him. He arose, and touched his sleeve. With infinite sarcasm Mr. Thorndike + began: “My engagements are not pressing, but—” + </p> + <p> + A court attendant beat with his palm upon the rail. + </p> + <p> + “Sit down!” whispered Andrews. “The judge is coming.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Thorndike sat down. + </p> + <p> + The court attendant droned loudly words Mr. Thorndike could not + distinguish. There was a rustle of silk, and from a door behind him the + judge stalked past. He was a young man, the type of the Tammany + politician. On his shrewd, alert, Irish-American features was an + expression of unnatural gloom. With a smile Mr. Thorndike observed that it + was as little suited to the countenance of the young judge as was the robe + to his shoulders. Mr. Thorndike was still smiling when young Andrews + leaned over the rail. + </p> + <p> + “Stand up!” he hissed. Mr. Thorndike stood up. + </p> + <p> + After the court attendant had uttered more unintelligible words, every one + sat down; and the financier again moved hurriedly to the rail. + </p> + <p> + “I would like to speak to him now before he begins,” he whispered. “I + can’t wait.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Andrews stared in amazement. The banker had not believed the young man + could look so serious. + </p> + <p> + “Speak to him, NOW!” exclaimed the district attorney. ‘You’ve got to wait + till your man comes up. If you speak to the judge, NOW—” The voice + of Andrews faded away in horror. + </p> + <p> + Not knowing in what way he had offended, but convinced that it was only by + the grace of Andrews he had escaped a dungeon, Mr. Thorndike retreated to + his arm-chair. + </p> + <p> + The clock on the wall showed him that, already, he had given to young + Spear one hour and a quarter. The idea was preposterous. No one better + than himself knew what his time was really worth. In half an hour there + was a board meeting; later, he was to hold a post mortem on a railroad; at + every moment questions were being asked by telegraph, by cable, questions + that involved the credit of individuals, of firms, of even the country. + And the one man who could answer them was risking untold sums only that he + might say a good word for an idle apprentice. Inside the railed enclosure + a lawyer was reading a typewritten speech. He assured his honor that he + must have more time to prepare his case. It was one of immense importance. + The name of a most respectable business house was involved, and a sum of + no less than nine hundred dollars. Nine hundred dollars! The contrast + struck Mr. Thorndike’s sense of humor full in the centre. Unknowingly, he + laughed, and found himself as conspicuous as though he had appeared + suddenly in his night-clothes. The tipstaffs beat upon the rail, the + lawyer he had interrupted uttered an indignant exclamation, Andrews came + hurriedly toward him, and the young judge slowly turned his head. + </p> + <p> + “Those persons,” he said, “who cannot respect the dignity of this court + will leave it.” As he spoke, with his eyes fixed on those of Mr. + Thorndike, the latter saw that the young judge had suddenly recognized + him. But the fact of his identity did not cause the frown to relax or the + rebuke to halt unuttered. In even, icy tones the judge continued: “And it + is well they should remember that the law is no respecter of persons and + that the dignity of this court will be enforced, no matter who the + offender may happen to be.” + </p> + <p> + Andrews slipped into the chair beside Mr. Thorndike, and grinned + sympathetically. + </p> + <p> + “Sorry!” he whispered. “Should have warned you. We won’t be long now,” he + added encouragingly. “As soon as this fellow finishes his argument, the + judge’ll take up the sentences. Your man seems to have other 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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Thorndike began grimly to pull on his gloves. For all he cared now + young Spear could go hang. Andrews nudged his elbow. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + Spear, his head hanging, with lips white and cheeks ashen, and his eyes + heavy with shame. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Thorndike had risen, and, in farewell, was holding out his hand to + Andrews. He turned, and across the court-room the eyes of the financier + and the stenographer met. At the sight of the great man, Spear flushed + crimson, and then his look of despair slowly disappeared; and into his + eyes there came incredulously hope and gratitude. He turned his head + suddenly to the wall. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Thorndike stood irresolute, and then sank back into his chair. + </p> + <p> + The first man in the line was already at the railing, and the questions + put to him by the judge were being repeated to him by the other assistant + district attorney and a court attendant. His muttered answers were in turn + repeated to the judge. + </p> + <p> + “Says he’s married, naturalized citizen, Lutheran Church, die-cutter by + profession.” + </p> + <p> + The probation officer, her hands filled with papers, bustled forward and + whispered. + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Austin says,” continued the district attorney, “she’s looked into + this case, and asks to have the man turned over to her. He has a wife and + three children; has supported them for five years.” + </p> + <p> + “Is the wife in court?” the judge said. + </p> + <p> + A thin, washed-out, pretty woman stood up, and clasped her hands in front + of her. + </p> + <p> + “Has this man been a good husband to you, madam?” asked the young judge. + </p> + <p> + The woman broke into vehement assurances. No man could have been a better + husband. Would she take him back? Indeed she would take him back. She held + out her hands as though she would physically drag her husband from the + pillory. + </p> + <p> + The judge bowed toward the probation officer, and she beckoned the + prisoner to her. + </p> + <p> + Other men followed, and in the fortune of each Mr. Thorndike found + himself, to his surprise, taking a personal interest. It was as good as a + play. It reminded him of the Sicilians he had seen in London in their + little sordid tragedies. Only these actors were appearing in their proper + persons in real dramas of a life he did not know, but which appealed to + something that had been long untouched, long in disuse. It was an + uncomfortable sensation that left him restless because, as he appreciated, + it needed expression, an outlet. He found this, partially, in praising, + through Andrews, the young judge who had publicly rebuked him. Mr. + Thorndike found him astute, sane; his queries intelligent, his comments + just. And this probation officer, she, too, was capable, was she not? + Smiling at his interest in what to him was an old story, the younger man + nodded. + </p> + <p> + “I like her looks,” whispered the great man. “Like her clear eyes and + clean skin. She strikes me as able, full of energy, and yet womanly. These + men when they come under her charge,” he insisted, eagerly, “need money to + start again, don’t they?” He spoke anxiously. He believed he had found the + clew to his restlessness. It was a desire to help; to be of use to these + failures who had fallen and who were being lifted to their feet. Andrews + looked at him curiously. “Anything you give her,” he answered, “would be + well invested.” + </p> + <p> + “If you will tell me her name and address?” whispered the banker. He was + much given to charity, but it had been perfunctory, it was extended on the + advice of his secretary. In helping here, he felt a genial glow of + personal pleasure. It was much more satisfactory than giving an Old Master + to his private chapel. + </p> + <p> + In the rear of the court-room there was a scuffle that caused every one to + turn and look. A man, who had tried to force his way past the tipstaffs, + was being violently ejected, and, as he disappeared, he waved a paper + toward Mr. Thorndike. The banker recognized him as his chief clerk. + Andrews rose anxiously. “That man wanted to get to you. I’ll see what it + is. Maybe it’s important.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Thorndike pulled him back. + </p> + <p> + “Maybe it is,” he said dryly. “But I can’t see him now, I’m busy.” + </p> + <p> + Slowly the long line of derelicts, of birds of prey, of sorry, weak + failures, passed before the seat of judgment. Mr. Thorndike had moved into + a chair nearer to the rail, and from time to time made a note upon the + back of an envelope. He had forgotten the time or had chosen to disregard + it. So great was his interest that he had forgotten the particular + derelict he had come to serve, until Spear stood almost at his elbow. + </p> + <p> + Thorndike turned eagerly to the judge, and saw that he was listening to a + rotund, gray little man with beady, bird-like eyes who, as he talked, + bowed and gesticulated. Behind him stood a younger man, a more modern + edition of the other. He also bowed and, behind gold eye-glasses, smiled + ingratiatingly. + </p> + <p> + The judge nodded, and leaning forward, for a few moments fixed his eyes + upon the prisoner. + </p> + <p> + “You are a very fortunate young man,” he said. He laid his hand upon a + pile of letters. “When you were your own worst enemy, your friends came to + help you. These letters speak for you; your employers, whom you robbed, + have pleaded with me in your favor. It is urged, in your behalf, that at + the time you committed the crime of which you are found guilty, you were + intoxicated. In the eyes of the law, that is no excuse. Some men can drink + and keep their senses. It appears you can not. When you drink you are a + menace to yourself—and, as is shown by this crime, to the community. + Therefore, you must not drink. In view of the good character to which your + friends have testified, and on the condition that you do not touch liquor, + I will not sentence you to jail, but will place you in charge of the + probation officer.” + </p> + <p> + The judge leaned back in his chair and beckoned to Mr. Andrews. It was + finished. Spear was free, and from different parts of the courtroom people + were moving toward the door. Their numbers showed that the friends of the + young man had been many. Mr. Thorndike felt a certain twinge of + disappointment. Even though the result relieved and pleased him, he + wished, in bringing it about, he had had some part. + </p> + <p> + He begrudged to Isaacs & Sons the credit of having given Spear his + liberty. His morning had been wasted. He had neglected his own interests, + and in no way assisted those of Spear. He was moving out of the railed + enclosure when Andrews called him by name. + </p> + <p> + “His honor,” he said impressively, “wishes to speak to you.” + </p> + <p> + The judge leaned over his desk and shook Mr. Thorndike by the hand. Then + he made a speech. The speech was about public-spirited citizens who, to + the neglect of their own interests, came to assist the ends of justice, + and fellow-creatures in misfortune. He purposely spoke in a loud voice, + and every one stopped to listen. + </p> + <p> + “The law, Mr. Thorndike, is not vindictive,” he said. “It wishes only to + be just. Nor can it be swayed by wealth or political or social influences. + But when there is good in a man, I, personally, want to know it, and when + gentlemen like yourself, of your standing in this city, come here to speak + a good word for a man, we would stultify the purpose of justice if we did + not listen. I thank you for coming, and I wish more of our citizens were + as unselfish and public-spirited.” + </p> + <p> + It was all quite absurd and most embarrassing, but inwardly Mr. Thorndike + glowed with pleasure. It was a long time since any one had had the + audacity to tell him he had done well. From the friends of Spear there was + a ripple of applause, which no tipstaff took it upon himself to suppress, + and to the accompaniment of this, Mr. Thorndike walked to the corridor. He + was pleased with himself and with his fellow-men. He shook hands with + Isaacs & Sons, and congratulated them upon their public spirit, and + the type-writer firm upon their public spirit. And then he saw Spear + standing apart regarding him doubtfully. + </p> + <p> + Spear did not offer his hand, but Mr. Thorndike took it, and shook it, and + said: “I want to meet your mother.” + </p> + <p> + And when Mrs. Spear tried to stop sobbing long enough to tell him how + happy she was, and how grateful, he instead told her what a fine son she + had, and that he remembered when Spear used to carry flowers to town for + her. And she remembered it, too, and thanked him for the flowers. And he + told Spear, when Isaacs & Sons went bankrupt, which at the rate they + were giving away their money to the Hebrew Hospital would be very soon, + Spear must come back to him. And Isaacs & Sons were delighted at the + great man’s pleasantry, and afterward repeated it many times, calling upon + each other to bear witness, and Spear felt as though some one had given + him a new backbone, and Andrews, who was guiding Thorndike out of the + building, was thinking to himself what a great confidence man had been + lost when Thorndike became a banker. + </p> + <p> + The chief clerk and two bank messengers were waiting by the automobile + with written calls for help from the office. They pounced upon the banker + and almost lifted him into the car. + </p> + <p> + “There’s still time!” panted the chief clerk. + </p> + <p> + “There is not!” answered Mr. Thorndike. His tone was rebellious, defiant. + It carried all the authority of a spoiled child of fortune. “I’ve wasted + most of this day,” he declared, “and I intend to waste the rest of it. + Andrews,” he called, “jump in, and I’ll give you a lunch at Sherry’s.” + </p> + <p> + The vigilant protector of the public dashed back into the building. + </p> + <p> + “Wait till I get my hat!” he called. + </p> + <p> + As the two truants rolled up the avenue the spring sunshine warmed them, + the sense of duties neglected added zest to their holiday, and young Mr. + Andrews laughed aloud. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Thorndike raised his eyebrows inquiringly. “I was wondering,” said + Andrews, “how much it cost you to keep Spear out of jail?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t care,” said the great man guiltily; “it was worth it.” + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of A Wasted Day, by Richard Harding Davis + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A WASTED DAY *** + +***** This file should be named 1820-h.htm or 1820-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/8/2/1820/ + +Produced by Don Lainson; David Widger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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