He lowered his voice a little, moving a little aside.
“Dont you be uneasy.
I aint a talker.
When I’m here, in Jefferson, I’m one fellow; what I am up town with a bunch of good sports aint nobody’s business but mine and theirn.
Aint that right?”
Later in the morning, from a distance he saw his sister on the street ahead of him turn and disappear into a door.
He tried to find her by looking into all the stores within the radius of where she must have turned, and asking the clerks.
She was in none of them.
The only place he did not investigate was a stairway that mounted between two stores, to a corridor of offices on the first floor, one of which was that of the District Attorney, Eustace Graham.
Graham had a club foot, which had elected him to the office he now held.
He worked his way into and through the State University; as a youth the town remembered him as driving wagons and trucks for grocery stores.
During his first year at the University he made a name for himself by his industry.
He waited on table in the commons and he had the government contract for carrying the mail to and from the local postoffice at the arrival of each train, hobbling along with the sack over his shoulder: a pleasant, open-faced young man with a word for everyone and a certain alert rapacity about the eyes.
During his second year he let his mail contract lapse and he resigned from his job in the commons; he also had a new suit.
People were glad that he had saved through his industry to where he could give all his time to his studies.
He was in the law school then, and the law professors groomed him like a race-horse.
He graduated well, though without distinction.
“Because he was handicapped at the start,” the professors said.
“If he had had the same start that the others had.…He will go far,” they said.
It was not until he had left school that they learned that he had been playing poker for three years in the office of a livery stable, behind drawn shades.
When, two years out of school, he got elected to the State legislature, they began to tell an anecdote of his school days.
It was in the poker game in the livery stable office.
The bet came to Graham.
He looked across the table at the owner of the stable, who was his only remaining opponent.
“How much have you got there, Mr Harris?” he said.
“Forty-two dollars, Eustace,” the proprietor said.
Eustace shoved some chips into the pot.
“How much is that?” the proprietor said.
“Forty-two dollars, Mr Harris.”
“Hmmm,” the proprietor said. He examined his hand.
“How many cards did you draw, Eustace?”
“Three, Mr Harris.”
“Hmmm.
Who dealt the cards, Eustace?”
“I did, Mr Harris.”
“I pass, Eustace.”
He had been District Attorney but a short time, yet already he had let it be known that he would announce for Congress on his record of convictions, so when he found himself facing Narcissa across the desk in his dingy office, his expression was like that when he had put the forty-two dollars into the pot.
“I only wish it weren’t your brother,” he said.
“I hate to see a brother-in-arms, you might say, with a bad case.”
She was watching him with a blank, enveloping look.
“After all, we’ve got to protect society, even when it does seem.……”
“Are you sure he cant win?” she said.
“Well, the first principle of law is, God alone knows what the jury will do.
Of course, you cant expect—”
“But you dont think he will.”
“Naturally, I—”
“You have good reason to think he cant.
I suppose you know things about it that he doesn’t.”
He looked at her briefly.
Then he picked up a pen from his desk and began to scrape at the point with a paper cutter.