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.” 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. 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--” A court attendant beat with his palm upon the rail. “Sit down!” whispered Andrews. “The judge is coming.” Mr. Thorndike sat down. 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. “Stand up!” he hissed. Mr. Thorndike stood up. After the court attendant had uttered more unintelligible words, every one sat down; and the financier again moved hurriedly to the rail. “I would like to speak to him now before he begins,” he whispered. “I can’t wait.” Mr. Andrews stared in amazement. The banker had not believed the young man could look so serious. “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. 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.