The Opened Shutters: A Novel — Edition Insights

That was less than a month ago, but already Calvin Trent had changed his mind. Should he lose young Dunham, he would regret it.

He regarded John now as the clean-shaven profile bent over a lengthy document. The judge had the small man's admiration for the stature and build of his assistant. He liked the sunshine of his smile, the steady gaze of his eyes. The young man's personality had impressed him from the first; but it was after the judge had proved the temper of his mind and quickness of his perception that he allowed these physical advantages to take their place as valuable assets.

"The boy's well born, and well raised," he said to himself. "I suppose he's some kind of a fool, he's too young not to be; but there's no sign of it yet."

It was very pleasant not to have to hurry to the office in the morning, and not to be obliged to furnish all the brains that were supposed to be accessible in this home of the law.

After a few minutes' silence Judge Trent looked up again from his steaming shoes.

"Ever been in love, Dunham?" he asked suddenly.

The young lawyer raised his eyes, with evident effort to bring his attention from the subject in hand, and regarded the quaint face and figure of his employer.

The vagueness of his stare caused the judge to stir and cough with some embarrassment.

"Oh, no matter, of course. I just happened to think of it. When I was your age I had it bad: thought if I couldn't have that one girl life wouldn't be worth living." The speaker's foot slipped on the radiator, and he readjusted his chair.

"Just happened to meet her out there a minute ago;" he jerked the tall hat in the direction of the street.

"That must have been rather startling." Dunham had by this time collected his ideas.

"Oh, no. We've both always lived here; she's kept tab on me ever since; kind of puts the burden of proof on me to show that I can get along without her, if you understand."

"And you've shown her, eh?"

"You've never married, I believe?"

John did not have to assume an interest. This spare little man was small only in physique. He was an object of interest to any and every ambitious young lawyer.

"No, never did." Judge Trent shook his head, and rocked his tilted chair gently. "I might count up the number of kitchen fires I've escaped building on cold winter mornings; the number of nocturnal rambles I've escaped taking with shrieking infants doubled up with the colic--and then there are my books! What would have become of my books! My fair one was the pizen-neat kind. She would have dusted them and driven me to drink!"

Dunham smiled. "And yet those are scarcely facts with which you can reassure her," he remarked.

Judge Trent caught the younger man's eye with a sympathetic twinkle.

"Precisely; and the sad consequence is that she has never been entirely reassured. Her name's against her, poor girl--Martha. Careful about many things."

"Then you had no successor?"

"No, and affairs piled up. I had too much to attend to to renew the attack. I didn't have time to smooth down her ruffled feathers, so--the result is that we've each flocked alone. Just as well, just as well," continued the speaker, musingly. "What I was thinking of just now was how many different lives we seem to live in one; how our tastes change; and at best how few illusions are left to lawyers regarding marriage."

"In other words, you're a confirmed old bachelor. What was it you asked me a minute ago--if I were in love?"

"Yes, or if you had been."

"Have been dozens of times,--am not," returned Dunham, with the smile that his employer liked.

"Just so, just so," the latter answered quickly. "We change. Read First Corinthians, seventh chapter, and if you take Paul's advice and don't pass the Rubicon, then you 'll be free to change as often as you please."

Dunham looked up again. "Are you a Bible student, Judge Trent?"

"Student of everything," returned the lawyer, with a short wave of his thin hand.

"All books except woman's looks, eh?" answered Dunham, returning to his papers.

"I said I had no successors," remarked the judge, regarding his gaiters musingly. "I'm not at all sure of that. Miss--Martha was a very attractive woman. My impression is that in any case she preferred to concentrate all her faculties upon watching to see that I didn't get into mischief."

"That's faithfulness, I'm sure," returned Dunham. "The necessity for building those kitchen fires wouldn't exist now," he added suggestively.

"Young man, no levity," returned the judge.