began to remember some of the details of last night’s solitary debauch. He quickly arrayed himself in some semblance of judicial finery and gingerly walked out into the living room. Astonishingly there seemed to be no trace remaining of his presence there the previous night. The ashtray was still on the coffee table as he had left it, but it had been emptied and polished to such a degree that it looked as if it had never been used. He looked around for his pipe only to discover that it had been returned to the bottom drawer of his desk along with the tin of Dunhill tobacco. He would have seriously doubted the reality of the events of last night had it not been for the mute but forceful testimony of his hangover. Shrugging his shoulders, he went into the kitchen to stoically endure the questionable benefits of his breakfast— dry toast, two shredded wheat biscuits barely softened by the application of as little non-fat milk as possible, and a small cup of black, unsweetened coffee. Mrs. Oglethorpe bustled about the place as usual but made no comment about last night or, indeed, about anything at all. The judge observed her closely, but all that he could discern was the occasional disapproving glance and the almost imperceptible shake of her head which, coming from Mrs. Oglethorpe, could mean anything or nothing. He finished his breakfast and called for a Veterans Cab to take him downtown to the courthouse. Since the atmosphere inside was decidedly chilly, he put on his hat and coat and went outside to wait for his cab. There he thought the elements might be more hospitable. In this he was correct. Although it was not yet eightthirty in the morning, the thick blanket of fog that had covered the northwest part of the city for the last several ~
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