"Which machine?" asked Gwynne, ingenuously. "I don't fancy I could ever make up my mind. They seem precisely alike to me."
"Well," said the judge, slowly, although he brushed the tip of his nose aside with more violence than usual. "I don't like advising, particularly a young man of your distinguished abilities and achievements. But I really think I am better able to advise you than Leslie, and certainly every man of us should feel a sense of responsibility to the old Otis—and Adams!—blood. I will say frankly that in your place I should join the party that owns this State—and shows no signs of letting go; in other words, the Republican. I can well understand, that having been a Liberal—and to the extent of renouncing your titles!—the Democratic would appeal to you. But don't waste your time, Mr. Gwynne. You are thirty-two. You don't want to throw away the next ten years on a losing game, and then, tired out, arrive nowhere. You would fight so hard that all your energies would be second-rate by that time. You want to begin right now and swim with the tide. Nurse your great energies for the exactions of the victorious career. You'll need them. And need them fresh."
"That sounds like good advice, but the whole political game appals me when I consider that it will be six years before I can even run for the House of Representatives—"
"True! True! Pity your parents didn't lose you. But everything turns out for the best. Meanwhile, you can make name and fortune as a corporation lawyer. And you can't have too much money in this world, sir. You can't have too much money in this world."
It was on the tip of Gwynne's tongue to ask him bluntly what corporation he had in mind, but not only did his already boiling humor recoil from the indignity of a deliberately worded bribe, but he doubted if it would be proffered so early in the game. He had a very clever man to deal with; it was not likely he would make the mistake of a direct approach. Gwynne flattered himself that he looked as ingenuous as Tom Colton, but as he had seen through the complacent judge, it was possible that the judge might entertain suspicions of a man with his reputation. He was glad he had not spoken when his visitor rose abruptly to his feet.
"Bless my soul!" he exclaimed. "I shall miss my train if I don't hurry. And heaven forbid that I spend another night in this mud-hole. My address is on my card—when do you come down again?"
"There is a lecture at Berkeley on Wednesday—"
"Good! Now, you will dine with me next Wednesday night—and I hope on many other nights. We must have several long talks—and all about your future, young man. I am too old to talk about my own, but I remember what I was at your age. Tactful, hey? But no," dropping his voice gravely. "I want to help you. And I can. Whatever branch of the law you specialize upon, you must leave Rosewater and come to San Francisco. I can place you in an office—even should you decide upon general practice—that will carry you swifter and further than our reform friend can, because he is playing a losing game—a losing game, sir. But we'll talk of all that later. I must hasten."
Gwynne escorted him to the head of the staircase, where he resisted an impulse to kick him down, then, after a hasty glance into the dictionary, encased himself in rubber and went up the hill to the home of Judge Leslie. He was to dine there, and it was but a quarter-past four, but what he had to say and ask would not keep for an hour and three-quarters.