“I might suggest something–,” Hezekiah appeared doubtful, lacking in his usual assurance.
It irritated Obadiah to have this man upon whose judgment he had staked his fortune display indecision in this trivial affair. “Out with it! What’s the matter with you? Have you got cold feet?” he stormed.
Hezekiah chuckled. “This case is complicated. The other side is most unfriendly. It’s pretty hard to keep out of court when the other fellow wants to put you there,” he argued, “I believe that I see a way if you will give me full authority to make such settlement as I deem advisable and,” Hezekiah shifted uneasily, “allow me the assistance of counsel.”
“Hezekiah Wilkins, have you gone crazy? Do you mean to ask me to hire another lawyer to help you in this insignificant automobile case?” groaned Obadiah.
“I haven’t asked you to employ a lawyer. I asked for counsel.”
“For the love of Mike, whose counsel do you require in this tempest in a teapot?” shouted the exasperated mill owner.
“I wish, with your permission, to ask your daughter Virginia to be of counsel.”
“Thunderation,” bawled Obadiah, shrilly, exploding with pent up aggravation. “Have you gone out of your wits?” He surveyed the lawyer as if he really believed his legal mentality to be addled. “Can’t I get it into your head–” he cast a look of utter contempt at the massive cranium of the lawyer–“that my interest in this case is to keep my daughter out of court? If it wasn’t for her, I’d let that brittle shanked motorcycling ass sue until they grow bananas in Canada.”
“Your verbal pyrotechnics are interesting but hardly germane to the subject,” Hezekiah reproved his employer. “I have no intention of dragging your daughter into court in the guise of a Portia, although her beauty would––”
Obadiah’s temper was on edge. “Come to the point, sir,” he demanded. “Cut out the hot air. My time is worth money.”