“A good lawyer will, in consultation with his client, clear away all superfluous matter, leaving nothing but what is necessary for the counsel to know.”
“Yes, my sod, same as we first of all get rid of the refuse from a skin.”
“Exactly, father,” said Luke, smiling; “for clients often think matters of great moment that are worthless in a court of law.”
“To be sure, yes; people will talk too much, my boy, I know,” said the old man. “Why, Lukey, how I should like to hear you laying down the law in your wig and gown, my boy. How you must give it to ’em. I’ve read about you in the newspaper. Old Mr Mallow always brings one to me when he sees your name in, and shakes hands with me; and the tears come in the old fellow’s eyes as he says to me with a sigh, ‘Ah, Mr Ross, I wish I had had such a son.’”
“Why, father,” said Luke, smiling, and seeming himself once more, “it is a good job that you don’t live near me.”
“Don’t say that, my boy,” said the old man, looking quite aghast. “I—I was thinking how nice it would be if I could get nearer to you.”
“You’d spoil me with flattery,” said Luke.
“Nay, nay, my boy,” said the old man, seriously. “I never told you aught but the truth, and if I saw a fault I’d out with it directly.”
“You always were the best of fathers,” cried Luke, clasping the old man’s hand.
“And—and I thank God, my boy, for His blessings on my old age,” quavered the old man, with the weak tears in his eyes—“You were always the best of sons.”