“I always believe in giving my old neighbours all the news I can when they want it,” the lawyer said humorously, “for news has been scarce in town lately. I’m going to give you something straight now. You will hear this before the newspapers do: I have written to the Governor declining that honour with grateful thanks.”
“Won’t be a judge?” queried Amazeen with astonishment,
“I’d rather be Phin Look, lawyer,” said the Squire, with a queer little glint in his eyes.
“I’ll bet you ten dollars I know why,” snapped Uncle Buck, with the frankness of an old friend. “A man that knows was telling me that all you have to do is set up there in your office and rake in money hand over fist, sellin’ law to the big corporations. And a Supreme Court judge only gits five thousand a year.”
His gimlet eye bored the Squire, and a question that his curiosity had prompted for a long time popped out of his mouth.
“A man what ought to know told me that you was clearin’ fifteen thousand dollars a year out of law. Now, Squire, I stump you to say that he lied. Did he, or didn’t he?”
The lawyer so thoroughly appreciated the character of Uncle Buck that this attack was flavoured for him with delicious humour. He came close to the old man and put his hands on his hips as he straddled before him.
“I’m goin’ to tell you the honest truth, Uncle Lys,” he said.
The inquisitor pulled himself forward.
“If a man is a Supreme Court judge in this State he must be away from home almost three-quarters of his time. Now the straight facts of the case are——”