There was silence for a few minutes, broken only by the turning of the crisp papers as Dunham continued his researches. At last the telephone bell rang and Dunham answered it. As he hung up the receiver Judge Trent spoke:— 

 "Just call up the railway station, will you, and secure a chair for me in the nine o'clock train for Boston Wednesday morning?" 

 John obeyed, and as he returned to his desk his employer continued:— 

 "I may need your advice on Wednesday's business, Dunham." 

 "My advice?" returned the young man, with interest. "Is it in the Evans case?" 

 "No," dryly; "it isn't in the Evans case. It's a case of a girl." The judge scowled at his gaiters and pushed his hat askew. "Hang it, I don't know anything about girls." 

 The young lawyer waited, his elbows on his desk. 

 "Anything that I can do, of course," he said at last. 

 "Have you any sisters?" 

 "No." 

 "Confound you," returned the other impatiently. "What do you know about it, then?" 

 "Nearly all there is to know," responded Dunham modestly. 

 "The conventionalities, the proprieties? Where and how girls may live and where and how they can't, for instance? Unattached girls whose relatives don't want them, for I'd like to bet her aunt won't receive her, and if I should go out of my way to urge it she'd probably turn on me and tell me to take my own medicine." 

 "I'd do my best," returned John, when the exasperated tones had subsided. 

 "What's the use of obeying St. Paul if your family won't?" went on the lawyer irritably. "What's the good of avoiding girls of your own, only to have somebody else's dumped on you?" 

 "Be calm, Judge," said Dunham, smiling. "I felt a little stage fright when I thought it was the Evans case; but if it's only girls, I can attend to them with one hand tied behind me." 

 Judge Trent regarded him wistfully. "John, do you know what you're saying? Isn't yours the presumption of ignorance?" 

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