you, you're a lawyer, ain't you?" cried the old man.

Austen, well used to this kind of greeting from Mr. Gaylord, replied that
he didn't think himself much of one.

"Damn it, I say you are. Some day I may have use for you," said old Tom,
and walked on.

"No," said young Tom, afterwards, in explanation of this extraordinary
attitude of his father, "it isn't principle. He's had a row with the
Northeastern about lumber rates, and swears he'll live till he gets even
with 'em."

If Professor Brewer (Ripton's most clear-sighted citizen) had made the
statement that Hilary Vane--away down in the bottom of his heart--was
secretly proud of his son, the professor would probably have lost his
place on the school board, the water board, and the library committee.
The way the worldly-wise professor discovered the secret was this: he had
gone to Bradford to hear the case, for he had been a dear friend of Sarah
Austen. Two days later Hilary Vane saw the professor on his little porch,
and lingered. Mr. Brewer suspected why, led carefully up to the subject,
and not being discouraged--except by numerous grunts--gave the father an
account of the proceedings by no means unfavourable to the son. Some
people like paregoric; the Honourable Hilary took his without undue
squirming, with no visible effects to Austen.

Life in the office continued, with one or two exceptions, the even tenor
of its way. Apparently, so far as the Honourable Hilary was concerned,
his son had never been to Bradford. But the Honourable Brush Bascom, when
he came on mysterious business to call on the chief counsel, no longer
sat on Austen's table; this was true of other feudal lords and retainers:
of Mr. Nat Billings, who, by the way, did not file his draft after all.
Not that Mr. Billings wasn't polite, but he indulged no longer in slow
winks at the expense of the honourable Railroad Commission.

Perhaps the most curious result of the Meader case to be remarked in
passing, was upon Mr. Hamilton Tooting. Austen, except when he fled to
the hills, was usually the last to leave the office, Mr. Tooting often
the first. But one evening Mr. Tooting waited until the force had gone,
and entered Austen's room with his hand outstretched.

"Put her there, Aust," he said.

Austen put her there.

"I've been exercisin' my thinker some the last few months," observed Mr.
Tooting, seating himself on the desk.

"Aren't you afraid of nervous prostration, Ham?"

"Say," excla