"Why don't you show 'em the letter?" demanded Mr. Mahaffy, when
they were alone. "Can't you see they are suffering for a sight
of it?"
"All in good time, Solomon." He became thoughtful. "Solomon, I
am thinking of offering a reward for any information that will
lead to the discovery of my anonymous correspondent," he at
length observed with a finely casual air, as if the idea had just
occurred to him, and had not been seething in his brain all day.
"There you go, Price--" began Mahaffy.
"Solomon, this is no time for me to hang back. I shall offer a
reward of five thousand dollars for this information." The
judge's tone was resolute. "Yes, sir, I shall make the figure
commensurate with the poignant grief I feel. He was my friend
and client--" The moisture gathered in his eyes.
"I should think that fifty dollars was nearer to being your
figure," suggested the cautious Mahaffy.
"Inadequate and most insulting," said the judge.
"Well, where do you expect to get five thousand dollars?" cried
Mahaffy in a tone of absolute exasperation.
"Where would I get fifty?" inquired the judge mildly.
For once Mahaffy frankly owned himself beaten. A gleam of
admiration lit up his glance.
"Price, you have a streak of real greatness!" he declared.
Before the day was over it was generally believed that the judge
was wearing his gag with humility; interest in him declined,
still the public would have been grateful for a sight of that
letter.
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