“Yes, two sure signs of it are a real liking for getting up early in the morning, and a promptness in doing little things. Contrariwise, an impatience with the younger people, who don’t do ’em.”
“Stuff!” said the judge. “The younger people are lazy; that’s the whole of it.”
“Yet they do all the important work of the world,” Hollis went on; “old people only potter round. Take Paul, now—he ain’t at all keen about getting up at daylight; in fact, he has a most uncommon genius for sleep; but, once up, he makes things drive all along the line, I can tell you. Not the trifles” (here Hollis’s voice took a sarcastic tone); “not what borrowed books must be sent here, nor what small packages left there; you never saw him pasting slips out of a newspaper in a blank-book, nor being particular about his ink, with a neat little tray for pens; the things he concerns himself about are big things: ore contracts, machinery for the mines, negotiations with thousands of dollars tacked to the tail of ’em.”
“I dare say,” said the judge, with a dry little yawn; “Mr. Tennant is, without doubt, an excellent accountant.”
The tone of this remark, however, was lost upon Hollis. “That Paul, now, has done, since I’ve known him, at least twenty things that I couldn’t have done myself, any one of them, to save my life,” he went on; “and yet I’m no fool. Not that they were big undertakings, like the Suez Canal or the capture of Vicksburg; but at least they were things done, and completely done. Have you ever noticed how mighty easy it is to believe that you could do all sorts of things if you only had the opportunity? The best way, sir, to go on believing that is never to let yourself try! I once had a lot of that kind of fool conceit myself. But I know better now; I know that from top to bottom and all round I’m a failure.”
The judge made no effort to contradict this statement; he changed the position of his legs a little, by way of answer, so as not to appear too discourteous.
“I’m a failure because I always see double,” pursued Hollis, meditatively; “I’m like a stereoscope out of kilter. When I was practising law, the man I was pitching into always seemed to me to have his good side; contrariwise, the man I was defending had his bad one; and rather more bad because my especial business was to make him out a capital good fellow.”
There was a sound of voices; Paul came through the wood on his way to the beach, with Cicely; Eve, behind them, was leading Jack.
“Are you going out again?” said the judge.
“Yes. Paul can go this morning,” Cicely answered.