feet, which rested against the steam
radiator in his private office. There had been a second desk introduced
into this sanctum within the last month, and the attitude of the young
man seated at it indicated but a brief suspension of business as he
looked up to greet his employer.

The judge had just come in out of the cold and wet, and did not remove
his silk hat as he seated himself to dry his shoes. He appeared always
reluctant to remove that hat. Spotlessly clean as were always the
habiliments that clothed his attenuated form, no one could remember
having seen the judge's hat smoothly brushed; and although in the
course of thirty years it is unlikely that he never became possessed of
a new one, even the closest observer, and that was Martha Lacey, could
not be certain of the transition period, probably owing to the
lingering attachment with which the judge returned spasmodically to the
headgear which had accommodated itself to his bumps, and which he was
heroically endeavoring to discard.

This very morning Miss Lacey in passing her old friend on the street
had been annoyed by the unusually rough condition of the hat he lifted.
A few steps further on she happened to encounter the judge's
housekeeper, her market basket on her arm. Old Hannah's wrinkled
countenance did not grow less grim as Miss Lacey greeted her, but that
lady, nothing daunted, stopped to speak, her countenance alert and her
bright gaze shining through her eyeglasses.

"I just met Judge Trent, Hannah. Dear me, can't you brush that hat of
his a little? It looks for all the world like a black cat that has just
caught sight of a mastiff."

"I guess the judge knows how he wants his own hat," returned Hannah,
her mouth working disapprovingly.

"But he doesn't realize how it looks. Some one asked me the other day
if I supposed Judge Trent slept in his hat."

"And I s'pose you told 'em you didn't know," returned the old woman
sourly. "He's got a right to sleep in it if he wants to," and she moved
on while Miss Lacey looked after her for a moment, her lips set in a
tight line.

"Insolent!" she exclaimed. "All is I know he wouldn't do it if _I'd_
married him," she added mentally, resuming her walk. Martha Lacey's
sense of humor was not keen, but suddenly the mental picture of Judge
Trent's shrewd, thin countenance, as it might appear in pillowed
slumber surmounted by the high hat, overwhelmed her and she laughed
silently. Then she frowned with reddeni