Years passed and the farm-boy became a lawyer, but Greenough had lost track of him, and supposed he was still at work on his father’s farm.
He was a poor man, owning a farm and little else. But a question arose as to his title to the farm. Suit was brought against him, and his whole property was at stake. He secured legal assistance, his lawyer being Moses P. Payson, of Bath. Mr. Payson thought he ought to have help, as the case was an important one, and suggested it to his client. The latter agreed, and Mr. Payson made his selection.
Soon after, in an interview with Mr. Payson, Greenough inquired, “What lawyer have you hired to help you?”
“Mr. Webster,” was the reply.
“Webster, Webster!” repeated Greenough; “I don’t know any lawyer of that name. Is he from Boston?”
“Oh, no; he came from your neighborhood,” was the reply. “It is Daniel Webster, the son of old Ebenezer Webster, of Salisbury.”
“What!” exclaimed the teamster in dismay; “that little black stable-boy that once brought me some horses! Then I think we might as well give up the case. Can’t you get somebody else?”
“No; the trial cannot be postponed. We must take our chances and make the best of it.”
The teamster went home greatly depressed. He remembered the rough looking farm-boy in his rustic garb and old straw hat, and it seemed ridiculous that a good lawyer could have been made out of such unpromising materials. He was not the first man who had been misled by appearances. He was yet to learn that a poor boy may become an able lawyer. Of course the case must go on, but he looked forward to the result with little hope. He would lose his little farm he felt sure, and in his declining years be cast adrift penniless and destitute.
When the day of trial came the teamster was in attendance, but he looked sad and depressed. Mr. Payson made the opening speech, and the trial proceeded. Mr. Webster was to make the closing argument.