“Sure, that’s your job.”
A little silence fell between these two. The Judge, tall and lean, with bushy brows above his wide-set eyes, studied the fat little man with some curiosity. Cotterill seemed indisposed to speak; and the other asked at last: “Family all well, Jim?”
“Well? Sure. Fine.”
“What’s the news, anyway?” the Judge insisted. “I haven’t heard from the folks lately.”
The attorney leaned back in his chair, somewhat more at ease; and he smiled. “Well,” he said. “Things go along about the same. Folks down home are right proud of you, Judge.”
“Sho,” said Hosmer, deprecatingly.
“Yes, they are,” Cotterill insisted good-naturedly. “Yes, they are. I was talking to old Tom Hughes, when he sent for me about this case, in the beginning. He told me to give you my regards and good wishes.”
“That was neighborly of him.”
Cotterill nodded. “Tom’s always been proud of you, you know, Bob. Course, being at the head of the Furnace the way he is, he runs a lot of votes in the county; and he’s always kind of figured that he elected you. Helped anyway. Feels like he’s done something to put you where you are. He liked you, when you were handling their business, too. I guess the Old Man kind of feels like you were his own son.”
Hosmer’s thin, wide mouth drew into a smile. “A fatherly interest, eh? Tom’s a good old man.”