"But honest lawyers are so rare!" exclaimed Gwynne, boyishly. "I do believe I should be an honest one. That, at least, is the intention I have set beside my ambition. I am ambitious, judge, as no doubt you have divined, and the prospect of being shelved among the lords sickened me. I wanted to make a career for myself, so cut the whole business and came here where my American properties were. Besides, as it happened, I inherited practically nothing with which to keep up my English estates. There! You have my reasons, judge, and you are welcome to them. Titles without money are mere embarrassments. Still, I really should have left, had it been otherwise—I am certain I should. I never could stand the inaction of the Upper House. Nor do I care for those compensatory honors that my position and family influence might have secured for me. And now I feel more the American every day. I have even grown keen on making money—which I rather disdained at home; for the matter of that, thought little about it. You may not know that I am—in partnership, as it were, with my mother and cousin—putting up a large Class A building in San Francisco?"
He inferred that there was little about him the judge did not know, but accepted the interested "Ah!" and rhapsodized over his new interests. The Judge listened with a benignant smile and a twinkling eye, every once in a while giving the tip of his long fleshy nose an abrupt shove, as if it impeded his breathing.
"Just so!" he exclaimed. "Just so! It is the Otis blood. No better pioneer blood in the State. Jim was the wild one. The others were as steady as rocks. Their father and grandfather—your ancestors, sir—helped to make this great State what it is. Their names will always be honored in the annals of California. Terrible pity Jim and Hi got away with so much. If they'd hung on as your mother and her mother did, Miss Isabel would be one of the heiresses. But she seems able to take care of herself, and with that face and form, I guess she can redeem her fortunes any way she chooses. I hear that young Harry Hofer can't talk of anything else."
Gwynne wondered if this were what the judge had come for, but exonerated him, concluding that he was merely rambling on in the hope of an opening.
"No doubt!" he said, heartily. "Miss Otis could marry any one she pleased. One of the best titles in England was hers for the asking, by-the-way. But like myself she is too good an American—shall I say Californian?—to live anywhere but here. She is immensely successful with her chickens, and we shall all make money on this new deal—I am certain of that."
"No doubt, no doubt. Things are booming in San Francisco. You'll get a huge rent from a building of that size—in time. Pity it has to be divided among three of you. And there will be a big mortgage to pay off first, I suppose; and it is in a very precarious district, a very precarious district." And once more the twinkle retired and he gazed dreamily at the fire.
"Oh, even golden apples have to ripen. And I have taken every precaution against fires. Have some more whiskey, Judge."
"Don't care if I do." Gwynne knew that the Scotch scalded a throat caressed these many years with the oily rye, and put as little seltzer in it as he dared. But the judge sipped it heroically. Suddenly the twinkle danced back to his eye as he turned it upon Gwynne.
"You can't delude me!" he cried. "You can't, sir. I know you intend to go in for politics. Nothing else would ever satisfy your genius. Own up, now."
"Well," said Gwynne, modestly. "I have thought of it. After my five years are up, of course—makes one feel rather like a convict. Meanwhile I can make some headway with the law: or, shall I say, build up a reputation that may be useful to me when I am able to run for office."