No more in his manner than in his
appearance did Winthrop suggest the popular conception of his
role. He was not professional, not mysterious. Instead, he was
sane, cheerful, tolerant. It was his philosophy to believe that
the world was innocent until it was proved guilty.
He was a bachelor and, except for two sisters who had married
men of prominence in New York and who moved in a world of
fashion into which he had not penetrated, he was alone.
When the visitors entered, Mr. Hallowell, without rising,
greeted his niece cordially.
"Ah, Helen! I am glad to see you," he called, and added
reproachfully, "at last."
"How do you do, sir?" returned Miss Helen stiffly. With marked
disapproval she bowed to Judge Gaylor.
"And our District Attorney," cried Mr. Hallowell. "Pardon my not
rising, won't you? I haven't seen you, sir, since you tried to
get the Grand Jury to indict me." He chucked delightedly. "You
didn't succeed," he taunted.
Winthrop shook hands with him, smiling, "Don't blame me," he
said, "I did my best. I'm glad to see you in such good spirits,
Mr. Hallowell. I feared, by the Despatch -- "
"Lies, lies," interrupted Hallowell curtly. "You know Judge
Gaylor?"
As he shook hands, Winthrop answered that the Judge and he were
old friends; that they knew each other well.
"Know each other so well!" returned the Judge, "that we ought to
be old enemies."
The younger man nodded appreciatively. "That's true!" he
laughed, "only I didn't think you'd admit it.
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