It’ll keep your voice steady in front of the judge.”

He lifted the poster board and carried it out to his car, the masking tape still curling up at one corner.

At four fifteen I met him in the hall outside Judge Raymond’s chambers.

The corridor smelled of floor wax and coffee.

Arthur was standing by the drinking fountain with his briefcase lying flat across his knees.

“He signed it,” Arthur said.

He took a single page out of the briefcase and handed it to me.