Nicholas crushed the brim of his hat in a sudden grip.
"Some believe it," he returned slowly. He sat down at the table, smiling gratefully at the judge's protestations.
"They aren't all like you, sir," he declared. "I wish they were. This world would be a little nearer heaven—a little less like hell."
There was a trail of lingering bitterness in his voice, and in a moment he added quickly: "Do you know, I'd like to get away for a time. I've changed my mind about caring to live here. If they'd send me up to the legislature next year, I'd make a new beginning."
The judge shook his head.
"I doubt the wisdom of it, my boy," he said. But Tom caught at the suggestion.
"Send you," he repeated. "Of course; they'll send you from here to Jericho, if you say so. Why, there's no end to your popularity among men. Where the ladies are concerned, I modestly admit that I have the advantage of you; but they can't vote, God bless them!"
"You're welcome to all the good they may bring you, old boy," was Nicholas's unchivalrous retort.
"Oh, you're jealous, Nick!" twitted Tom gaily. "They don't take kindly to your carrot locks. Now, I've inherited a way with them, eh, dad?"
The judge complacently buttered his buckwheats. There was a twinkle in his eyes and a quiver at the corner of his classic mouth.