"Arnold, it was magnificent," he said, with a paternal clap on his shoulder, adding, in an undertone, though no one was near, "but I don't think I would repeat it."
"Why?" asked Imrie coldly.
The Judge tugged at his white beard nervously. Then he patted the younger man again with what seemed like a somewhat exaggerated friendliness.
"Oh, come now, Arnold, don't get on your high horse. You know what I mean. That sort of thing's all right—occasionally. But it's juvenile...."
"Juvenile?"
"Well, perhaps not that. But it's young, sophomoric, journalistic, sentimental—you understand, I'm sure."
"Quite."
"We have some pretty conservative members here, you know. As laymen go, they're powerful." He stopped and watched Imrie, waiting for the effect of his words to sink in. "For a young man, practically at the outset of his career, to offend them—would be unwise."
Imrie's coldness dissolved, and he smiled broadly.
"We know each other too well to fence, Judge. Let's be frank with each other."