“I had no right to come to you, Mr. Look,” he said. “I didn’t realise how the interview would come out. I hoped that you would control your brother, that’s all, and give me one chance to save myself from State’s prison. I can understand perfectly why you should not be willing to help. I don’t blame you. Probably I should do the same under similar circumstances. It’s only human nature. Excuse me for giving way, but--it was pretty sudden for an old man.” His lips quivered. The Squire overtook him at the door and led him back to his chair gently, but with a quiet decision that the Judge did not attempt to resist. Then the lawyer leaned against one corner of the table and looked down on the man before him. “It’s bad, Judge Willard! It’s bad,” he said earnestly. “Both of us have passed our opinions of each other in the past, and it didn’t do either of us any good. Neither of us will now make any false pretences of friendship or forgiveness. We’ll leave affairs between us just as they stand. I am going to own up to you that in an investigation of the town’s affairs I shall show up badly myself, for I have been knowing to irregularities for some months and I have no explanation to offer why I did not report and interfere. It is for my interest, therefore, to attempt to arrange this matter. It is for the interest of Palermo in general to arrange it if we can. Your family has been our model of integrity for a long time. To say nothing of money loss, the showing up of this terrible thing will have an effect on morals and business confidence that our poor little town will not recover from in years. It is on my own and the people’s account that I am willing to say this to you--and that is: If it is within the power of one man to do it, I will try to avert this calamity from this town. I cannot tell you just how, for I do not know myself. I haven’t had time to think about it. It is too painful to talk about any longer now. Go home and put your affairs into such shape that I may determine your obligations and your resources.” The Judge weakly stammered promises, explanations and appeal, and would have stayed, but the lawyer, with some impatience, helped him to tuck his shawl about his neck, handed him his cane and opened the outside door. But he stopped him on the threshold. “If I hear that you have sent one more dollar to Bradish or have had truck or dealing of any sort with him after this talk of ours, I’ll have no more to do with the affair. I’m not much of a man to threaten, but that’s something you can depend upon.” The lawyer stood at his side window and watched the old man buffeting his way up the street, the corners of his shawl streaming on the wind, his slender legs quivering like reeds. “I’d hate to be cross-examined on a witness stand as to why I made such a promise to him,” he muttered, and then he put another stick into the stove, spatted his hands, gave the old dog an affectionate cuff, and went back to his work.