Judge Elbridge — Reading Companion

I. THE STUDENT AND THE ORATOR II. THE FAMILY JOKE III. THE NIGHT CAME BACK WITH A RUSH IV. STOOD LOOKING AT THEM V. SHE SAID THAT SHE WAS STRONG VI. THE WEXTON CLUB VII. WENT OUT TO "DIG" VIII. SAW THE BLACK FACE, GRIM, WITHOUT A SMILE IX. HEARD A GONG IN THE ALLEY X. WILLIAM AGREED WITH THE JUDGE XI. THE OLD OFFICE XII. WALKED AND REPENTED XIII. WANTED TO SEE HIS SON XIV. A PROPOSITION TO MAKE XV. DID NOT TOUCH HER XVI. WITH AN EAR TURNED TOWARD THE DOOR XVII. LYING ON THE SIDEWALK XVIII. MADE HIS PROPOSITION XIX. THE GIRL AGAIN XX. THE PREACHER CONFESSES XXI. UP THE STAIRS AND DOWN AGAIN XXII. TOLD HIM GOOD-BYE XXIII. THE LIGHT BREAKS XXIV. SENT A MESSAGE

He threw a piece of silver upon the banner of the salvationists . . . _Frontispiece_

"Halloa, Goyle," said he. "Come in."

Goyle began to turn the knob of the safe

"How’s everything?" Bodney asked

Bodney took the money

The old man pointed toward the door, and Howard walked slowly out

Bodney struck him in the mouth

The Judge seized the shears and raised them high above his head

*THE STUDENT AND THE ORATOR.*

When John Elbridge retired from the bench, the newspapers said that he had been an honorable judge. He was not a pioneer, but had come to Chicago at a time which we now call an early day, when churches rang their bells where now there is a jungle of trade, when the legs of the Giant of the West were in the ache of "growing pains;" at a time when none but the most visionary dreamed that a mud-hole full of old boots, dead rats, cats, dogs, could ever be worth a million of dollars. Elbridge came from Maryland, with a scant wardrobe, a lawyer’s diploma, and the confident ambition of youth. It was not long before he formed a copartnership with a young man named Bodney, a Kentuckian, in whose mind still lived the chimes of Henry Clay’s bells—a memory that not so much fitted him to the law as it atuned him to oratory; but in those days the bar could be eloquent without inviting the pitying smile which means, "Oh, yes, it sounds all right, but it’s crude." Elbridge was the student of the firm, and Bodney the orator, not a bad combination in the law at that time, for what one did not know the other was prepared to assert. They prospered in a way, but never had the forethought to invest in the magic mud-hole; took wives unto themselves, and, in the opinion of the "orator," settled down to dull and uneventful honesty. The years, like racing horses, flew round and round the track, and a palace of trade grew out of the mud-hole. Bodney and his wife passed away, leaving two children, a boy and a girl. Elbridge had stood at the bedside of his partner, who was following his wife into the eternal shadow. "Don’t worry about the children, Dan; they are mine," said the "student," and the "orator" passed away in peace. And they were his. He took them to his home to be brother and sister to his son; and the years raced round and round the track.

At the time of his retirement from the bench the Judge was asked why he refused longer to serve the people. "Because," said he, "I am beginning to be afraid of my judgment; I am becoming too careful—like the old engineer who can’t summon the nerve to bring his train in on time."