Among these
spectators was Josh's best friend, Arkwright, seated beside
Margaret Severence, and masking his satisfaction over the
impending catastrophe with an expression of funereal somberness.
He could not quite conceal from himself all these hopes that had
such an uncomfortable aspect of ungenerousness. So he reasoned
with himself that they really sprang from a sincere desire for his
friend's ultimate good. "Josh needs to have his comb cut," thought
he. "It's sure to be done, and he can bear it better now than
later. The lesson will teach him a few things he must learn. I
only hope he'll be able to profit by it."
When Josh appeared, Grant and the others with firmly-fixed
opinions of the character of the impending entertainment were not
a little disquieted. Joshua Craig, who stepped into the arena,
looked absolutely different from the Josh they knew. How had he
divested himself of that familiar swaggering, bustling
braggadocio? Where had he got this look of the strong man about to
run a race, this handsome face on which sat real dignity and real
power? Never was there a better court manner; the Justices, who
had been anticipating an opportunity to demonstrate, at his
expense, the exceeding dignity of the Supreme Court, could only
admire and approve.
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