Part 22 (1/2)

Before he could go farther Raymond Thomas, upon whom the entire situation was reacting in swift, powerful threats to his cause, arose, his face drawn with the agony of frustration, his voice high pitched from the effort to subdue the feelings fast getting beyond his control.

”The defendant's whereabouts were unknown to us, your Honor, and the court allowed us to serve notice by publication.”

”Publication in what?” Marvin demanded, as he darted contempt at Thomas.

Townsend answered him. ”Proper service was given, if the defendant could not be located.” To Bill he addressed the next question, ”Is that what you asked about?”

Still confused, and not yet quite getting the trend of the whole matter, he asked, in his quiet, disinterested way, ”Who, me?”

”Yes,” replied the judge. ”You made some remark after the complaint was read.”

”I wasn't sure I'd got it straight,” Bill said, looking ahead of him, mouth half open.

”You mean the grounds on which the action is based?” the judge persisted.

There was a pause, in which Bill looked first at Thomas, whose lids drooped under the old man's scrutiny, and then at his wife, who hung her head. ”I guess so,” he jerked, drumming his fingers softly on the table.

Townsend ordered the clerk to repeat that part of the complaint wherein the grounds for the suit were mentioned. The clerk repeated, ”Failure to provide, habitual intoxication, and intolerable cruelty.”

Bill listened attentively. As the clerk sat down, Bill looked up at the judge, asking, ”Is that all?”

[Ill.u.s.tration: LIGHTNIN', IN HIS FADED G. A. R. UNIFORM ... LISTENED ATTENTIVELY]

”Don't you think it's enough?” There was admonition in his manner, but there was a certain gentleness in his voice and a smile of sympathy lurked at the corners of his mouth. It was difficult for Lemuel Townsend, who knew the lovable side of the careless old man, but he was determined to maintain the dignity and the integrity of the law, and he knew that he must remain unbiased, no matter how strong his feeling was that here there had been sad tampering with truth and the finer essences of happiness.

His severity did not touch Bill. His sense of humor, always close to the surface, a.s.serted itself. A gleam that was half derision, half amus.e.m.e.nt, lighted his eyes as he grinned up at the judge. ”Sounded as if there was more the first time.”

Marvin again stood before the judge. He knew that Bill had no one to defend him and he had not felt the necessity of offering himself. He just took it for granted that Bill would turn to him in the dilemma and so he took the case in his hands. ”I am counsel for the defendant, your Honor,” he said, ”and he is entering a general denial.”

”Are you counsel for the defense?” Townsend's astonishment was evident in his long-drawn inflection. He had not heard of Marvin's admission to the bar. Neither had he seen the young man about lately, and the whole situation puzzled him.

Before Marvin could answer him, Bill was out of his seat, replying for him, ”Yes, sir, he is my lawyer.”

It was not the judge's way to admit himself baffled. Turning to Thomas, he instructed him to call his witnesses.

Marvin took a seat in front of Bill at the attorneys' table, while Bill on the edge of his chair leaned forward expectantly, his eyes fastened not on Thomas, but upon his wife, who sat with her head bowed and her eyes staring into her lap.

Thomas beckoned to Mrs. Jones, calling her name.

As she arose, Hammond, who sat next to Thomas on the other side of the table from Marvin and Bill, and who had appeared indifferent and bored so far in the proceedings, jumped to his feet, dismay written on every feature, and hastened to whisper in his partner's ear: ”Are you crazy?

The most dangerous thing you can do, now that old Jones is in court, is to call her to the stand.”

Thomas in his vaunted shrewdness had overlooked this possibility, but now that Hammond mentioned it to him he saw what disastrous complications Mrs. Jones's presence on the witness-stand might lead to.

Nodding in answer to Hammond's counsel, he again turned to Mrs. Jones, saying, ”I don't think it will be necessary for you to testify at all, Mrs. Jones.” As she sat down, he smiled at Millie, addressing her, ”Miss Buckley, will you take the stand, please?”

Millie had not expected to be called, and as she arose at his summons her face flushed with embarra.s.sment. She stood still momentarily and her eyes met Marvin's for the first time since he had appeared in court.

With an angry flash they quickly sought the witness-chair, and, although trembling at the ordeal before her, she made an effort to trip lightly to the stand. As she took her place and was sworn in by the clerk her replies were scarcely audible. Casting frightened glances up through her long lashes at Thomas, she was rea.s.sured by a smile. After the preliminary examination as to her adoption by Bill and Mrs. Jones and her residence with them since she was three years old, he began upon the intimate questions which he hoped would weave a web of incriminating evidence against Bill, evidence which would redound to his justification in the part he had played in bringing about the divorce.

”Miss Buckley,” he asked, pulling nervously at his cuffs and bringing them down two or three inches below his sleeves, ”Mrs. Jones has toiled early and late to provide for the family ever since you can remember, has she not?”

Millie nodded, gazing anxiously at Bill, who, far forward on his chair, was drinking in every word she said. There was a pitiful accusation behind the sadness in the eyes with which he returned her gaze.