But then came an incident which called him suddenly back to the world
of the present. "There is Judge Ellis," said the General.

Judge Ellis! The fame of his wit and eloquence had reached even far
Mississippi--was there any remotest corner of America where men had not
heard of the silver tongue of Judge Ellis? "Cultivate him!" Montague's
brother Oliver had laughed, when it was mentioned that the Judge would
be present--"Cultivate him--he may be useful."

It was not difficult to cultivate one who was as gracious as Judge
Ellis. He stood in the doorway, a smooth, perfectly groomed gentleman,
conspicuous in the uniformed assembly by his evening dress. The Judge
was stout and jovial, and cultivated Dundreary whiskers and a beaming
smile. "General Montague's son!" he exclaimed, as he pressed the young
man's hands. "Why, why--I'm surprised! Why have we never seen you
before?"

Montague explained that he had only been in New York about six hours.
"Oh, I see," said the Judge. "And shall you remain long?"

"I have come to stay," was the reply.

"Well, well!" said the other, cordially. "Then we may see more of you.
Are you going into business?"

"I am a lawyer," said Montague. "I expect to practise."

The Judge's quick glance had been taking the measure of the tall,
handsome man before him, with his raven-black hair and grave features.
"You must give us a chance to try your mettle," he said; and then, as
others approached to meet him, and he was forced to pass on, he laid a
caressing hand on Montague's arm, whispering, with a sly smile, "I mean
it."

Montague felt his heart beat a little faster. He had not welcomed his
brother's suggestion--there was nothing of the sycophant in him; but he
meant to work and to succeed, and he knew what the favour of a man like
Judge Ellis would mean to him. For the Judge was the idol of New York's
business and political aristocracy, and the doorways of fortune yielded
at his touch.

There were rows of chairs in one of the rooms, and here two or three
hundred men were gathered. There were stands of battle-flags in the
corners, each one of them a scroll of tragic history, to one like
Montague, who understood. His eye roamed over them while the secretary
was reading minutes of meetings and other routine announcements. Then
he began to study the assemblage. There were men with one arm and men
with one leg--one tottering old soldier ninety years of age, stone
blind, and led about by his