August in Washington, the nine Justices of the U. S. Supreme Court put on their black robes, convened, took up business where they left it off in June. Their docket was in most satisfactory shape: only 283 cases carried over from the 1926 term; only 279 new cases so far. Five of the 283 old cases were already under advisement. For the first day's sitting, the clerk of the Court called up 34 others for argument. Of the 279 new cases, some 250 were merely requests for review which could be quickly disposed of. The Supreme Court does not rush at its work with its sleeves rolled up, even figuratively speaking. Before beginning a long session of dignified hearing, conning, analyzing and resolving of arguments, the nine Justices presented themselves to the President to show him, in effect, that the ultimate wisdom of the nation was again ready to have perplexed people "draw near and give their attention."
The President shook their hands:
Chief Justice William Howard Taft, now 70, rotund, genial, with an earthquake chuckle and an eye that twinkles even in sternness. He dictates, revamps and redictates his opinions, guarding his strength from the rigors of writing. He walks for a half-hour every day. He has installed an elevator in his house to save walking upstairs to his study. Of all the Justices, he truly is least classifiable as "liberal" or "conservative." Radicals view with alarm his $10,000 income from steel bonds. Rock-ribbed bankers wonder at his large humanity.
Oliver Wendell Holmes, 86, whose mustache and sympathies flow even more freely than Mr. Chief Justice Taft's. Son and namesake of the poet, wounded in chest and foot as a Civil War volunteer, Mr. Associate Justice Holmes represents all that is spirited, liberal and scholarly in New England.
Willis Van Devanter, 68, from mountainous Wyoming, as conservative as a Dutch canal, and as calm.
James Clark McReynolds, 65, who served President Roosevelt as Assistant Attorney General and President Wilson as Attorney General before being raised to the high bench in 1914. He is a Kentucky-born bachelor, standing beside Mr. Associate Justice Van Devanter for a conservatism more intellectual than innate.
Louis Dembitz Brandies, 71, who might, were it not disrespectful, be called the Supreme Court's Seidlitz powder, so swiftly does he fume and sparkle when he senses that the rights of man are being infringed by right of might. He was another of President Wilson's appointees, and a much discussed. His wife takes active interest in liberal movements, even in the Sacco-Vanzetti affair—and he approves. Quick, subtle, his steps of mind and foot have a resilience that is unexpected in the old round room of grave decisions.