lmost past endurance. He felt himself as able a man as his
rival, he knew many lawyers more worthy of distinction and, smarting
under the injustice of these sudden acclamations, he began to grow
contemptuous of public esteem.

It was not long, however, before he awoke to the danger of brooding over
such thoughts. The world was big enough for them both, and the mighty
metropolis was a world so wide that the blotting out of any face was
only the matter of a step in the crowd. This man should not spoil or
embitter his life.

From the moment of that resolution Blagden disappeared from his horizon,
and Martin began to view life again from his normal standpoint.

It was only when business threatened to bring him into Blagden's Court
that he experienced the old feeling of bitterness. But then it returned
with a rush. One such lesson had been sufficient to warn him however,
and Martin thereafter appeared before Judge Blagden by proxy only.

It was just as well, he thought, as he felt the hot blood surging
through his veins, that Allison didn't insist upon his arguing
_Phelps_ vs. _Orson_. It would have been impossible to address that
Self-Satisfied Piece of Humanity with respect. Thank goodness he could
escape by handing the papers to the Clerk!

He rose and passed along the rear of the Court Room. In the far corner
sat a newspaper artist sketching the Judge and the scene about his desk.
Martin glanced sharply at the man, but he was absorbed in his work and
obviously not on the outlook for green-covered law papers. Nearer the
front, however, sat a young fellow studying every movement behind the
rail, and sometimes even rising nervously from his seat in his efforts
to keep a clear view. This was undoubtedly the youth whose place
depended on his vigilant watch of the Bench. What the devil was it all
about? In an instant his old newspaper instinct had carried everything
before it and Martin passed down the middle aisle, seating himself
immediately behind the young reporter.

"_Phelps_ vs. _Orson_."

Martin started at the sound of the Judge's voice, every fibre in his
body tingling with instant defiance.

The defendant's attorney answered "Ready," but Martin made no response.
He knew he did not intend to argue the case and should promptly state
the fact.

"_Phelps_ vs. _Orson_?" repeated the Justice inquiringly.

"Ready!" answered Martin, yielding to the call of sheer perversity.

It was childish, petty, absurd--and he