"I want to see Colby, the lawyer," began Uncle John, regarding the disordered room with strong disapproval.
"You are seeing him," retorted the young man, with a fleeting smile, "and I'll bet you two to one that if you came here on business you will presently go away and find another lawyer."
"Why?" questioned Mr. Merrick, eyeing him more closely.
"I don't impress people," explained Colby, picking up the guitar again. "I don't inspire confidence. As for the law, I know it as well as anyone—which is begging the question—but when I'm interviewed I have to admit I've had no experience."
"No practice?"
"Just a few collections, that's all I sleep on that sofa yonder, eat at a cafeteria, and so manage to keep body and soul together. Once in a while a stranger sees my sign and needs a lawyer, so he climbs the stairs. But when he meets me face to face he beats a hasty retreat."
As he spoke, Colby tightened a string and began strumming it to get it tuned. Uncle John sat down on the one other chair in the room and thought a moment.
"You've been admitted to the bar?" he asked.
"Yes, sir. Graduate of the Penn Law School."
"Then you know enough to defend an innocent man from an unjust accusation?"