A WASTED DAY. BY RICHARD HARDING DAVIS
(Copyright, 1914, by the Newspaper Enterprise Association.)
lie policemen who cleared the way
for him. Or, by some genius of mem
ory, to recall the fact that it was on
this morning young Spear was to be
sentenced for theft.
When its turn came, the private
secretary, somewhat apologetically,
laid the letter in front of the Wisest
Man in Wall street
"From Mrs. Austin, probation offi
cer, Court of General Sessions," he
explained. "Wants a letter about
Spear. He's been convicted of theft.
Comes up for sentence Tuesday."
' "Spear?" repeated Arnold Thorn-
"Young fellow, stenographer, used
to do your letters last summer going
in and out on the train."
The great man nodded. "I remem
.ber. What about him?"
; "Went on the loose; had with him
about five hundred dollars belonging
''to the firm; he's with Isaacs & Sons,
now, shoe people on Sixth avenue.
Met a woman, and woke up without
' any money. The next morning he
offered to make good, but Isaacs call
ed in a policeman. When they looked
into it, they found the boy had been
drunk. They tried to withdraw the
charge, but he'd been committed.
; Now, the probation officer is trying to
get the judge, to suspend sentence.
'A letter from you, sir, would "
tj It was evident tire nlind of tie great
man was elsewhere. Young men who,
drunk or . sober, spent the firm's
fjmoney on women who disappeared
before sunrise, did not appeal to him.
; "Spear had. a letter from us when
he left, didn't he?J' he asked. "What
he has developed into, since he left
us " he shrugged his shoulders. The
' secretary "withdrew the letter, and
slipped another in its place. .
As his car slid downtown on Tues
day morning the mind of Arnold
Thorndike was occupied with such
details of daily routine as the pur
chase of a railroad, the Japanese
loan, the new wing to his art gallery,
and an attack that morning, in his
own newspaper, upon his pet trust.
But his busy mind was not too occu
pied to return the salutes of the traf-
It was characteristic of the great
man to act quickly. "Stop at the
Court of General Sessions," he com
manded. What he proposed to do
would take but a few minutes. A
word, a personal word from him to
the District Attorney, or to the judge,
would be enough.
Out of the sunshine Mr. Thorndike
stepped into the gloom of an echoing
rotunda. With a deprecatory laugh,
he explained why he had come. But
the outburst of approbation he had
anticipated did not follow.
The District Attorney ran his finger
briskly down a printed card. "Henry
Spear," he exclaimed, "that's your
man.- Court III, Judge Fallon! An
drews is in that court." He walked to
the door of his private office. "An
drews!" he called.
"Mr. Thorndike is interested in
Henry Spear, coming up for sentence
in Part Three this morning. Wants
to speak for him. Take him over with
The District Attorney shook hands
quickly, and retreated to his private
office. Mr. Andrews took out a cig
aret and, as -he crossed the floor,
"Come with me," he commanded.
Mr. Andrews led him to an office,
bare and small, and offered him a
chair, and handed him a morning
Mr. Thorndike refused the news
paper. "I thought I was going to
see the judge," he suggested.
"Court doesn't open for a few min
utes yet," said the assistant district
attorney. "Judge is always late, any
way." Mr. Thorndike suppressed an ex
clamation. He wanted to protest, but
his clear mind' showed him that there
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