“Better sit close, Judge,” he admonished. “The draughts get to sky-larking through here pretty lively on windy days.”
“I ought not to have come out this day,” said the old man querulously. “But I didn’t want to send word to you to come to my office for fear you would think it strange and not come. And I felt that I had much need to see you, Lawyer Look.”
“I would have come if you had sent word,” said the Squire, simply. He did not utter his curt “What can I do for you?” so common with him in these busy times, but looked at his visitor with inquiring gaze.
“Haven’t you got any influence or control over that fool brother of yours?” demanded the Judge, bluntly and indignantly.
“I don’t care to reply to questions of that sort put in that fashion,” returned the lawyer, knitting his brows.
Willard stared a moment into his face with its hard lines and then shifted his eyes under the steady gaze of the Squire.
“I don’t mean to be tart with you, Mr. Look,” he said, moderating his tone, “but I don’t think you ought to let your brother come into this town, after all that’s happened, and do what he is trying to do to me and mine. You’re a man of standing and I’m going to say to you that I think you are above such things.”
His apology was awkward and half-hearted.
“Aren’t you going to handle him and prevent him from making a fool of himself?”
“I don’t care to enter into any statement to you, Judge Willard, of certain family discussions that have already occurred between my brother and myself. I simply want to state for your benefit that I have no sympathy with certain movements of his. But my brother’s business is his own, Judge. He has adopted his own manner of living and occupies his own apartments at our house, and if you care to talk this matter over with him you’ll find him there at any time. I shall not interfere in his affairs.”