He and the priest were close
friends, although they held widely different faiths, and argued fiercely
over their differences of opinion whenever they met--and had time--and
notwithstanding that neither ever yielded to the other so much as a
single hair's breadth.
Father Orin now came straight toward him, merely nodding and smiling at
those whom he passed, and reaching Joe Daviess' side, he coolly ran his
hand deep down in his friend's pocket, precisely as if it had been his
own. The attorney-general made believe to strike out backward with his
left hand--his right being full of papers. But he laughed, and he did
not turn his head to see how much money the priest had taken and was
calmly transferring to his own pocket. And then, chuckling and nodding
his gray head, Father Orin quietly made his way round the court room,
keeping close to the wall, and taking care to pass behind the jury which
sat on a bench of boards laid across two logs. He was now making his way
to the little platform of logs on which the judge was sitting. The judge
saw him coming and hastily shook his head, knowing from long experience
what he was coming for.
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