SPECIAL TERM
PART I.
and entered a small court room crowded to suffocation. Every seat was
occupied and men were standing about everywhere--jammed in between the
chairs--plastered against the wall--crushed against the rail. The
counsels' table and its two chairs were the only unoccupied bits of
furniture in the room.
The Court criers glanced despairingly at the throng and shouted
mechanically, "Gentlemen will please take seats!" and then, more
hopefully, "Gentlemen will please stop talking!"
But the babel of conversation was finally hushed by an attendant who
announced the entrance of the Judge by pounding with an ample fist upon
the panels of a door. Not a very dignified heralding of the presence of
the Court, but understood by the late comers whose view is limited to
the judicial canopy--that pall-like canopy of red rep which sets one
panting to gaze with relief at the steam-screened windows. They at least
are wet.
"_Grafton_ vs. _The Milling Companies!_"
Holden fought his way like a foot-ball player through the "rush line" of
lawyers, and as he pitched into the cleared space before the counsels'
table his impulse was to dodge the one man before him and race down "the
side-line." But he checked himself in time. Then two other young men
plunged into the open and stood somewhat breathlessly before the Bench.
"If it please the Court," began Holden, "this is a motion in a case of
great importance and----"
"All cases are equally important in this Court, Sir!"
"I recognise that, your Honour, but I was about to say----"
"Well, well, never mind! Are you ready?"
"Yes, Sir, but I was about to tell your Honour----"
"That'll do, Sir!"
"That Mr. Harter, who is to argue this motion, thinks it will take till
recess."
"Ah, Mr. Harter? Well, his opinions are interesting, of course, but not
quite conclusive on this Court. Not necessarily conclusive. Eh?"
A titter from the crowd acknowledged this retort. Is there anything so
irresistibly infectious as the wit of the Bench?
The other young men then came to the rescue of their fellow clerk. This
is such an old, old play that every one knows his cue.
"Col. Partridge thinks he will need half an hour, your Honour."
"Col. Partridge? Ah,--well,--what does the other side say?"
"Mr. Coates thinks he will take twenty minutes more."
"Um--Mr. Coates? Tell--er--tell Mr. Harter I'll take it up as soon as
the cases ahead of it are disposed of. No cases after _Grafton_ vs. _The
Milling Companies_ will be heard before two o'clock. _Morton_ vs.
_Sheldon_, are you ready?"
"The defendant's Counsel has just stepped into the hall. If your Honour
will hold it a moment----"
"This Court waits for no one, Sir. Its time belongs to the People.
Motion dismissed. _Vone_ vs. _Taunton_. What's that about?"
"It's a motion to change the place of trial, if the Court please."
"Well, hand in your papers."
"But I'd like to be heard, your Honour. This means much to my client."
"Now, Mister,--er--Mister--er--Counsellor, what is the use of arguing
that? I know all about it--I have hundreds of such cases--and seldom
grant them. Hand up your papers."
"Will not the Court allow me----"
"No, Sir; no, Sir! That'll do! Hand up your papers.--_Grafton_ vs. _The
Milling Companies_! Ah, Mr. Harter; good-morning, Sir. Officer, get Mr.
Harter a chair. Good-morning, Colonel Partridge, how are you to-day,
Sir? We are all ready now, I think, Mr. Coates? Yes? Well, no other
cases will be heard this morning."
And the Judge leans back in his comfortable swing-chair, and beams in
courteous attention upon the distinguished counsel.
"If the Court please," begins Mr. Coates, "this is a case of great
importance----"
Yes, his Honour knows its importance. He has gathered this from the
retainer of Messrs. Harter and Partridge and Coates, and the reporters
know its importance as they scribble on their pads, and the newspaper
artists know it as they sketch illustrations for the "story," and the
Court officials know it reflecting his Honour on the Bench. But the one
who knows it best of all is the grey-haired plaintiff, Grafton, who sits
behind Mr. Harter and listens with a puzzled air to the learned
arguments.
To Grafton the case was indeed important. It involved all he had in the
world. It had seemed a simple case to him when he first brought it to
his attorney, but matters had not gone smoothly from the start. Delay
and postponement were followed by more delay and further postponement.
"The defendants were putting up a stiff fight," his attorney told him.
What about? Well, they had "demurred," or "counterclaimed," or "made a
motion," or "appealed,"--had done some of these things, or all of
them--goodness knows just what--it was not very clear.
Why couldn't his case be tried? Well, they were "stayed by appeal," or
"enjoined pending a motion," or were "stricken off the calendar." Some
of these things, or all of them, had happened. "But the fact was," his
attorney told him, "the defendant's Counsel stood in too well with the
Court--he really ought to retain Mr. Harter."
So Mr. Harter was retained, and the case bristled with nice legal points
and pretty questions of practice, to the utter amazement of Grafton, who
blindly stumbled along in the ruck of the legal battle, hopelessly
confused and growing daily more and more anxious, like the suitor in
_Jarndyce_ vs. _Jarndyce_.
But such a case as _Jarndyce_ vs. _Jarndyce_ could never happen in New
York, because, as any lawyer can tell you, there is no Court of
Chancery, or anything like----
Well, there is no Court of Chancery.
The argument of Mr. Coates was ably sustained, and Mr. Harter's reply
was so masterly that Col. Partridge said in his rejoinder that nothing
but his knowledge of the law kept him from being persuaded.
The Court laughed, and the officials laughed, and the listening Bar
laughed. Everyone laughed except Grafton, who had no sense of humour,
anyway.
But at last it was over.
"Well, Mr. Grafton, I hope you are satisfied--I feel sure his Honour was
with us.... Holden, hand up your brief.... It was very good, Sir.... Mr.
Grafton, this is young Mr. Holden of our office who wrote the brief for
you on the motion to-day--and wrote it well, too."
Holden blushed like a school-girl as he shook Mr. Grafton's hand. It was
no small thing to be praised by Mr. Harter at any time, but about
"_Grafton_ vs. _The Milling Companies_," it was positive distinction.
Mr. Harter was right about the Court being with him, for the plaintiff
won that motion.
He was right again in the two appeals which followed the decision. He
was right on several other like occasions and won no less than six
different motions and five appeals by the end of the next three years.
But the case didn't get to trial.
It was then that Grafton began to grow surly and instead of
congratulating Mr. Harter on his triumphant practice, snapped out that
such practice made perfect fools of honest men.
Which was decidedly ungrateful as well as impolitic.
However, he sensibly gave up trying to follow the maze of procedure, and
hammered away with expostulation and question at the fact that the case
wasn't tried.
With less wisdom he took to talking about the litigation with his
friends and neighbours--with lawyers at the Club--with officials in the
Court--with clerks in the office--with anyone and everyone who would
listen, until he bored them beyond politeness and began to get snubbed.
But the case itself was less interesting than at first. Almost all the
fine points of "practice" had been exhausted and only the dry fodder of
facts remained.
Harter hadn't appeared in Court with it for many a day and plainly
intimated that he'd retire altogether if Grafton didn't stop boring him.
But in Holden the plaintiff always had an interested listener. Ever
since the morning when Mr. Harter had praised his work Holden had
studied the case in every phase and knew its every detail. So when, a
few months after he set up in practice for himself, Grafton brought him
all the papers and made him his sole attorney, Holden knew no words with
which to express his thanks.
He had always despised the flagging interest of his seniors. Doubtless
they had done their best--Mr. Harter and the attorney, but despite their
fruitless efforts he felt his ability to push the matter to a successful
issue. It was a great case, and there was his chance, and into it he
threw himself with all the splendid enthusiasm of his youth and
strength. He pressed his adversaries this way and that, worried them
with unending work and harassed them with ceaseless attack until he saw
his case actually set down for trial on "a day certain." Then his
excitement knew no bounds. He worked hour after hour with Grafton's
witnesses, prepared schedules and accounts, compiled digests of
testimony and indices of all the papers, made himself an expert
bookkeeper and a master-expert on every detail of Grafton's business. He
raised every question that legal ingenuity could conjure up, and every
quibble that cunning could devise and met them in his trial-brief--the
work of months of careful study. There was no suggestion of a defence
which was not ferreted out and run down by question and answer--no
technicality neglected, until at length even Grafton laughingly
protested.
"My dear boy, let's leave it alone now! There's no one can beat you on
either the facts or the law."
But Holden wouldn't leave it alone. They were already talking about the
approaching trial in the rotunda, and this was his start in life. So
night and day he studied and planned with the increasing confidence
which comes of perfect preparation.
At last they were in the Court crowded with witnesses, counsel,
litigants and reporters.
Would there be another adjournment? Not if he could help it, and Holden
squared his jaw and looked determination at the veteran Mr. Coates.
"_Grafton_ vs. _The Milling Companies_--How long will that take?"
"About two days--your Honour, I think." Holden's voice fairly faltered
as he answered glancing at the witnesses clustered near him and the
immense pile of books and papers.
But Mr. Coates did not dissent. He was ready.
At last! At last they were at trial.
"Then no other matters will be heard to-day. _Grafton_ vs. _The Milling
Companies_. Proceed with your case, Sir."
But Mr. Coates had arisen and was addressing the Court.
"I think it only right to say to your Honour that I shall not interpose
any defence in this action. The Milling Companies made an assignment
last night, and I only represent the Assignee. The gentleman will, of
course, take our default, but I should hardly think he would occupy the
whole day."
Holden stared silently at the speaker. The familiar scene darkened,
faded, disappeared and flared up in a new light completely transforming
it--a strange room with strange people--a stage setting in the white
unmasking light of day.--A mocking face leered at him from a raised
dais--mocking figures elbowed him with impatient scorn--mocking fingers
pointed at him with derisive joy--fat clammy hands touched his breast
and pushed him from the rail over which he glared with the most
desperate hatred known to the world--the hatred of a man against
mankind.
Then someone burst out laughing.
"What does he mean, Holden?"
Grafton's voice sounded a mile away, but the words of Belden, Coates'
clerk, were clear enough as he whispered in Holden's ear:
"Wasn't it great? Kept you all off for over three years without a ghost
of a defence! Our people only wanted time to get things fixed and we got
it for them all right enough, I guess. Give you a dime for your
judgment! I tell you----"
But Holden suddenly struck Belden across the mouth and was promptly
adjudged guilty of contempt of Court.--Of which the payment of his fine
did not purge him, an order of the Court to the contrary
notwithstanding.