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“Believe it! Do you think these farmers around here’d refuse to believe anything when you tell ’em the corporations is behind it? Don’t you think they won’t believe it!”

“You have no doubt, then, of its authenticity?”

“Oh, course, I don’t say as to that. Jerry’s a good fellow, all right enough. I ain’t sayin’, between ourselves, what he done at Springfield—it’s none o’ my business, you know.”

“I presume not.”

“You ought to know as much about it as me, anyway, Judge. You’re a corp’ration lawyer—you’ve been to Springfield yourself, I reckon.”

The lawyer winced, and the natural ruddiness of his healthy skin showed under his white beard a deeper hue.

“I have only been there to appear in the Supreme or the Appellate Court, Mr. McFarlane; I have no concern with any legislative lobbying my clients may do, if they do any.”

“Oh, sure—’scuse me, Judge—that’s done by the Chicago lawyers, of course; I didn’t stop to think.” McFarlane had almost settled himself in his chair, but at this contretemps he leaned forward again, and then, wishing to give the action the effect of interest rather than of embarrassment, he hastened on: