dn't see fit to mention it to me first--did you? Said you were going
up to thank him for it."

Austen considered this.

"You have put me in the wrong, Judge," he replied after a little. "I
made that remark ironically. I I am afraid we cannot agree on the motive
which prompted me."

"Your conscience a little finer than your father's--is it?"

"No," said Austen, "I don't honestly think it is. I've thought a good
deal in the last few years about the difference in our ways of
looking at things. I believe that two men who try to be honest may
conscientiously differ. But I also believe that certain customs have
gradually grown up in railroad practice which are more or less to be
deplored from the point of view of the honour of the profession. I think
they are not perhaps--realized even by the eminent men in the law."

"Humph!" said the Honourable Hilary. But he did not press his son for
the enumeration of these customs. After all the years he had disapproved
of Austen's deeds it seemed strange indeed to be called to account by
the prodigal for his own. Could it be that this boy whom he had so often
chastised took a clearer view of practical morality than himself? It was
preposterous. But why the uneasiness of the past few years? Why had
he more than once during that period, for the first time in his life,
questioned a hitherto absolute satisfaction in his position of chief
counsel for the Northeastern Railroads? Why had he hesitated to initiate
his son into many of the so-called duties of a railroad lawyer? Austen
had never verbally arraigned those duties until to-night.

Contradictory as it may seem, irritating as it was to the Honourable
Hilary Vane, he experienced again the certain faint tingling of pride as
when Austen had given him the dispassionate account of the shooting of
Mr. Blodgett; and this tingling only served to stiffen Hilary Vane more
than ever. A lifelong habit of admitting nothing and a lifelong pride
made the acknowledgment of possible professional lapses for the benefit
of his employer not to be thought of. He therefore assumed the same
attitude as had Mr. Flint, and forced the burden of explanation upon
Austen, relying surely on the disinclination of his son to be specific.
And Austen, considering his relationship, could not be expected to
fathom these mental processes.

"See here, Judge," he said, greatly embarrassed by the real affection
he felt, "I don't want to seem like a prig and appear to b