f lucre never looms so large
As when 'tis gotten in some devious way.

Men can o'erlook the stain upon the targe,
If from its boss the jewel shoots its ray;
Or blood upon the pirate's sable barge
Covered by silks' and satins' bright array--
The need of lucre never looms so large
As when 'tis gotten in some devious way.
--_Rondels of the Curb_.

Morning passed to noon, and the day aged into afternoon, before Amidon
rose from the deep sleep which (according to Le Claire's prediction)
followed his evening with her and the professor. With that odd sense
of bewilderment which the early riser feels at this violation of habit,
he went into the cafe for his belated breakfast. Impatient to finish
the meal so that he might haste to the promised interview, he studied
the menu, and with his eye scouted the room for a waiter--failing to
bestow even the slightest glance on a man seated opposite. This fact,
however, did not prevent the stranger from scrutinizing Amidon's face,
his dress, and even his hands, as if each minutest detail were vitally
important. He even dropped his napkin so as to make an excuse for
looking under the table, and thus getting a good view of Florian's
boots. Finally he spoke, as if continuing a broken-off conversation.

"As I said a while ago," he remarked, "Browning falls short of being a
poet, just as a marble-cutter falls short of being a sculptor. You
were quoting _Love Among the Ruins_, as the train stopped at Elm
Springs Junction; or was it _Evelyn_----"

Amidon's eyes, during this apparently aimless disquisition, had been
drawn from his meal to the speaker. He saw an elderly gentleman,
clothed in the black frock-coat and black tie of the rural lawyer of
the old school. His eyes shot keen and kindly glances from the deep
ambush of great white brows, and his mouth was hidden under a snowy
mustache. His features made up for a somewhat marked poverty of shape
by a luxuriance of ruddy color, the culminating point of which was
to be found in the broad and fleshy nose. His voice, soft and gentle
when he began, swelled out, as he spoke, into something of the
orator's orotund. When Amidon looked at him, the speaker returned
the gaze in full measure, and leaning across the table, pointed his
finger at his auditor, and slowly uttered the words, "--as--the
train--stopped--at--Elm Springs Junction!"

"Why, Judge Blodgett!" exclaimed Amidon, "can this be you?"

"