rton's large back was turned when the last phrase was uttered,
and Mr. Brotherton made a little significant face at his shelves, and
the thought occurred to Mr. Brotherton that Henry Fenn was not the only
man whom people pretty generally knew about. After some further talk
about Fenn and his affairs, Van Dorn primped a moment before the mirror
in the cigar cutter and started for the door.

"By the by, your honor, I forgot about the Mayor's miners' relief fund.
How is it now?" asked Van Dorn.

"Something past ten thousand here in the county."

"Any one beat my subscription?" asked Van Dorn.

Brotherton turned around and replied: "Yes--Amos Adams was in here five
minutes ago. He has mortgaged his place and so long as he and Grant
can't find kith or kin of Chopini, and Mrs. Herdicker would take
nothing--Amos has put $1,500 into the fund. Done it just now--him and
Grant."

The Judge took the paper, looked at the scrawl of the Adamses, and
scratching out his subscription, put two thousand where there had been
one thousand. He showed it to Brotherton, and added with a smile:

"Who'll call that--I wonder."

And wrapping his ulster about him and cocking his hat rakishly, he went
with some pride into the street. He was thirty-four years old and was
accounted as men go a handsome dog, with a figure just turning from the
litheness of youth into a slight rotundity of very early middle age. He
carried his shoulders well, walked with a firm, straight gait--perhaps a
little too much upon his toes for candor, but, with all, he was a
well-groomed animal and he knew it. So he passed Margaret Fenn again on
the street, lifted his hat, hunted for her eyes, gave them all the
voltage he had, and the smile that he shot at her was left over on his
face for half a block down the street. People passing him smiled back
and said to one another:

"What a fine, good-natured, big-hearted fellow Tom Van Dorn is!"

And Mr. Van Dorn, not oblivious to the impression he was making, smiled
and bowed and bowed and smiled, and hellowed Dick, and howareyoued
Hiram, and goodmorninged John, down the street, into his office. There
he found his former partner busy with a laudable plan of defending a
client. His client happened to be the Wahoo Fuel Company, which was
being assailed by the surviving relatives of something like one hundred
dead men. So Mr. Calvin was preparing to show that in entering the mine
they had assumed the ordinary risks of mining,