No young man of
twenty-two looks like an old fellow of sixty, but he certainly
moved and talked like him--and had the same way of looking at
things. "The written law may uphold you, sir, and the jury may so
consider, but I shall instruct them to disregard your plea. There
is a higher law, sir, than justice--a law of mercy--That I myself
shall exercise." The old Judge had sat straight up on his bench
when he said it, his face cast-iron, his eyes burning. The jury
brought in an acquittal without leaving their seats. There was an
outbreak, of course, but the man went free. This young offshoot
was from the same old stock, that was all; same sap in his veins,
same twist to his branch; same bud, same blossom and--same fruit.
And Garry!
Not many years have elapsed since I watched him running in and out
of his father's spacious drawing-rooms on Fourteenth Street--the
court end of town in those days. In the days, I mean, when his
father was Collector of the Port, and his father's house with its
high ceilings, mahogany doors and wide hall, and the great dining-
room overlooking a garden with a stable in the rear.
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