The commercial. (Union City, Tenn.) 190?-193?, 1902-04-04


continuance. L"
John, you're a fool" growled
Jones, sneering; Syou don't know
Clifford; he wouldn't yield point OF
do graceful thing for anyone. Be
sides he hates Burrell and me as the
devil hates holy water. Scat, John
He'd throw you out of the Office
Swell, I'm willing to give him a
try" said the drudge.
"By George, then try!" roared
Jones, with flash of appreciation;
''try it, John. Do youknow him?"
"Well, know about him" said the
neophyte, sinking glance at the
scornful junior Burrell; anyhow, !
can't do worse than fail"
"I'l give you $50 if you succeed.
Fifty! Hear that, John? But, mind
you, no verbal business. l wouldn't
trust the old cormorant on his oath.
Make him write it down, sign it and
address it to the court. It's $50 for
you if you win"
And Cadawallader went back to his
book and silently sat down and read.
Jones' flash of admiration for the
office scapegoat dimmed and went out
as he noticed that the latter spent all
the forenoon without an effort to at
tack the dread Clifford. Noon came
and passed and at two o'clock Jones
came bustling in, stood beside John
for an instant and sneered:
"Well, have you lost your nerve, or
was that a bluff you made this morn
ing?"
Cadwallader put down his book,
looked at the clock, sighed a bit
deprecatingly and left the office.
Jones sat about and fumed for an
hour, glancing at his watch and ours
ing Clifford, the case, John and every
body connected with his law business.
His train was to leave at eight, At
six he was in fury of excited disap-
pointment. Then Cadawallader
came in, went into the rear office,
pulled out his old fiddle and, passing
Jones as he went out, said:
"Tll be back in an hour, Mr.. Jones.
Have a little patience, please"
Jones could have thumped the
blase underling for hiscoolness. Aft
er wasting the whole day, to come
after his miserable fiddle and walk
out with it seemed to the busting
lawyer the acme of wanton levity.
"I'll wait an hour for that idiot"
he grunted, "but, by the everlasting,
if he comes back without at least hav-
ing seen Clifford I'll fire him out of
this office forever"
He was in fine frenzy when John
came back with his fiddle under his
arm and dreamy look of patient res
ignation on his broad face.
"Well?" asked Jones, ready to muir
der the imperturbable young man.
"Well?"
Cadwallader took off his coat,
reached into his inside pocket, pulled
out a note, handed it to Jones and
skunk into the dark to bestow his old
fiddle.
GLOW in the name of God did you
get it?" sang Jones, dancing with de-
light as he read the precious writing.
"Did you hypnotic him? Was he
drunk"
He was counting out the $50 he
had promised, and John had folded
it away in his inside vest pocket be-
fore he answered.
"You know Clifford lives up in the
old McClelland building, and he's got
an old organ up there. He plays it
every afternoon-old fugues and
etudes that nobody knows. He plays
well, too-a hobby with him, I guess,
and the only one he has. Nobody
ever goes near him, and he locks him
self in every afternoon and plays the
old organ. They wouldn't stand it
anywhere else, and that's why old
Clifford buries himself in that dirty
old building.
'What the ID has that got to do
with the continuance" grinned the
radiant Jones.
q went up there and listened at
his door till he began to play Chopin's
Nocturne. Then raped on the
door. He glowered at me like a
jaguar, but 1 told him that I'd been
listening in the hall for half an hour
(Which was true), but that I'd like
to come in just to hear him play. He
let me in, and | sat in the darkest cor
ner for two hOurs-mOre. 1istening to