Dr. Cheyney looked thoughtful, but there was the shadow of a smile in the depths of his mild eyes. “You’ve never asked me to finish my testimony,” he remarked. “I’m in the possession of a secret that would clear up all this scandal about poor little Sammy; I’ve waited three weeks and you don’t ask me. I wonder if you’re human, Caleb Trench?” Trench swung around and faced him. The expression of his face, its power and its mastery and self-control had never been more poignant. “Dr. Cheyney,” he said, “it doesn’t concern me; let them say what they please.” “On my soul!” said Dr. Cheyney, “I won’t tell you! You’re too pesky proud to live. I reckon they’ll say all you want and more too, young man.” “Let them!” said Caleb. XXVIII IT was two days after this that Judge Hollis came into Caleb’s little office and found him at work in his shirt sleeves. The table and desk were covered with papers and open telegrams. The judge eyed the place critically. Order showed in the neat pigeonholes and the rows of packed shelves. “In two years you’ll have me beat,” remarked the judge, “then I’ll take down my shingle.” Caleb smiled wearily. “You forget that this only shows how far behindhand I am,” he replied; “you were never on trial for your life, Judge.” The old man shook his head. “No,” he said, “and I was never the most conspicuous figure in the State. Caleb, you’ve been threatened?” “Some letters, yes,” the younger man admitted, without emotion, “from cranks, I fancy.” “No,” said the judge flatly, “there’s feeling. Some of these ignorant people have got a notion that your campaign against Eaton, your attack on his company, destroyed his credit and drove him to the wall. They’ve got the idea that he’d have saved himself, and their investments, if you’d let him be. They’re wild about it; money loss goes to the quick, when a man can’t pay for his bacon he wants a scapegoat. The better sort know it’s not your doing, and, I’ll say it for ’em, the newspapers have been decent, but there’s feeling, Caleb; you’d better go armed.” Caleb laughed. “Judge, I was bred a Quaker. I only used my pistol here in self-defense; I never went out with one in my pocket in my life.” The judge rubbed his chin. “You’d better now,” he remarked shortly. Caleb leaned back in his chair and looked out of the window thoughtfully. “I wonder what my father would have said to his son carrying weapons?” he reflected, amused. “Good deal better than to get a hole in you,” the judge retorted; “you know how to use it!” Trench colored. “My blood was up, Judge,” he said, “a mob’s a cowardly thing; I never felt such disgust in my life.” “Humph!” ejaculated the judge eloquently. Caleb smiled involuntarily. “I don’t think there’s any danger,” he said pleasantly.