"
"She's all right, Bingle. Don't worry. Who is this coming up the drive
in such haste?"
Mr. Bingle peered intently over his glasses.
"That? Why, 'pon my soul, Fiddler, that is Mr. Sigsbee. My lawyer, you
know. Now, what in the world can be bringing him out here? By George,
I--I wonder!" He leaned against a porch pillar, assailed by a sudden
weakness.
"You wonder--what?"
"I wonder if the Supreme Court sits on the day after the Fourth of
July."
"The Court is late this year in arriving at the summer recess, that
much I can tell you. Are you expecting a decision in the case of
Hooper et al. vs. Bingle?"
"I am," said Mr. Bingle, mopping his brow, which was wet with a very
chilly moisture.
CHAPTER XIV
THE LAW'S LAST WORD
Mr. Sigsbee remained for luncheon. He did not return to the city until
late in the afternoon. All day long an atmosphere of gloom, not
altogether attributable to reaction from the Fourth, pervaded the
house. By that strange, mysterious form of contagion described as
"sensing," the servants became infected by the depression; questioning
looks were answered by questioning looks; conversation was carried on
in lowered tones and confined almost exclusively to matters pertaining
to the work in hand; furtive looks were bestowed upon the door of Mr.
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