“Humph!” says Andy.
The trio puff and sip in silence.
“You say nothing for my knowledge of law?” This from the disgruntled Andy, with a rising inflection that is like finding fault.
“No!” cry the others in hearty concert.
“You wouldn't believe us if we did,” adds McNairy of the future woolsack.
“Neither would the Judge,” returns Andy cynically. “The Judge” is the title by which the three designate their master, Spruce Mc-Cay. Andy goes on: “The news I promised is this. To-morrow I leave Salisbury. The Judge has recommended my admission to the bar, and I shall take the oath and get my license before I start. I shall transfer myself to the region along the Cumberland, where I am told a barrister of my singular lack of ability should find plenty of practice.”
“Why do you leave old Rowan?” asks woolsack McNairy, beginning to take an interest.
“Because I have no education, less law, and still less money. It seems that these are conditions precedent to staying in Rowan with credit.”
“Well,” cries McNairy the judicial, grasping Andy's long bony hand, “you have as much education, as much law, and as much money as I. Under the circumstances I shall go with you.”
“And I,” breaks in the lively Crawford, “since I have none of those ignorant and poverty-eaten qualifications you name, but on the contrary am rich, wise and learned—I shall remain here. When the wilderness casts you fellows out, come back and I shall welcome you. Pending which—as Parson Hicks would say—receive my blessing.”