But I
think I'll have a few words with my friend Philip Hardin."
Woods is the perfection of rosy good-humor, when he drags Hardin
away from his office next day to a cosey lunch at the "Mint."
"I want to consult you, Judge," is his excuse. Hardin, now counsel
for warring giants of finance, listens over the terrapin and birds,
to several legal posers regarding Joe's affairs. Woods has wide
influence. He is a powerful friend to placate. Hardin, easy now
in money matters, looks forward to the United States Senate. Woods
can help. He is a tower of strength.
"They will need a senator sometime, who knows law, not one of those
obscure MUD-HEADS," says Hardin to himself.
Colonel Joe finishes his Larose. He takes a stiff brandy with his
cigar, and carelessly remarks:
"How's your mine, Judge?"
"Doing well, doing well," is the reply.
"Better let me put it on the market for you. You are getting old
for that sort of bother."
"Woods, I will see you by and by. I am trustee for the Valois
estate. He left no will, and I can't give a title to the ranch till
the time for minor heirs runs out. So I am running the mine on my
own account. Some outside parties may claim heirship."
"Didn't he leave a daughter?" says Woods.
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