Mr. Converse settled himself into the tone and pose of the cross-examiner.
“I have been a vagrant, hiding myself in the highways and byways of this country, for a long time.”
“What happened to drive you out like that?”
“Right there, Mr. Converse, is where I must halt. It is a family matter. I cannot go into it.”
“Look here, Thornton, you are in trouble. If you are in trouble, so is your father. He has lost a boy! You can tell me now what it's all about, or I'll drop my affairs and go and hunt up Morgan Bristol and ask him about it. You may just as well save me all that time and trouble. You're a lawyer, yourself—I know it.”
“Yes.”
“And you're a good one and know our code when it comes to secrets. I am not asking you to expose a family skeleton—I'm demanding that you treat me as your attorney and trust to my discretion. You are in trouble and need a helper, and, by gad! you have got to take me into this thing.”
Thornton Bristol set his elbows on his knees and clutched his shaking fingers into his hair.
“I have been meaning to keep it all to myself, sir,” he stammered.
“Quite likely. You have done mighty well at it, I should judge. But you know that any man who acts as his own lawyer usually does a mighty poor job. He lacks perspective.”