All of which moved
Mahaffy to flashes of grim sarcasm.
The immediate result of Norton's communication had been to send
the judge up the street to the courthouse. He would show his
client that he could be punctual and painstaking. He should have
his abstract of title without delay; moreover, he had in mind a
scholarly effort entirely worthy of himself. The dull facts
should be illuminated with an occasional striking phrase. He
considered that it would doubtless be of interest to Mr. Norton,
in this connection, to know something, too, of mediaeval land
tenure, ancient Roman and modern English. He proposed artfully
to pander to his client's literary tastes--assuming that he had
such tastes. But above all, this abstract must be entirely
explanatory of himself, since its final purpose was to remove
whatever doubts his mere appearance might have bred in Mr.
Norton's mind.
"If my pocket could just be brought to stand the strain of new
clothes before the next sitting of court, I might reasonably hope
for a share of the pickings," thought the judge.
Entering the court-house, he found himself in a narrow hall. On
his right was the jury-room, and on his left the county clerk's
office, stuffy little holes, each lighted by a single window.
Beyond, and occupying the full width of the building, was the
court-room, with its hard, wooden benches and its staring white
walls. Advancing to the door, which stood open, the judge
surveyed the room with the greatest possible satisfaction.
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