he could distinguish the merchant's voice, loud and masterful.
The judge stopped in surprise. He had heard of the old gentleman's temper, but had not imagined that anger could raise to such a pitch a voice usually so calm and dignified. He was alarmed and was trying to slip away unseen, when Mr. Mitrophanis interrupted the discussion and called out to him from the depths of the warehouse:
"What do you wish, Mr. Liakos?"
"I came to say a few words; but I see you 're engaged, and will come again some other time."
"Pass into my office, and I will be with you in a moment."
The judge stumbled over some coffee bags, and, making his way into the office, sat down by the merchant's table in the only chair that was vacant. The air was heavy with the odor of colonial merchandise. The dispute began anew inside the warehouse, and the words, "weight,"
"bags," "Custom House," were repeated over and over again. Mr. Liakos sat listening to the noise, and tried to picture to himself the quiet old gentleman who had been out walking with his two daughters the night before. At last the commotion quieted down, and Mr. Mitrophanis came in with a frown on his face.
"I have happened on an unlucky time for my call," thought the judge.
"I suppose you come from Mr. Plateas,"
