“Tom, I am ashamed of you! I don’t see how you could treat your good old uncle so. I am a better friend of his than you are; for if I had known the circumstances I would have kept that case out of court until I got word to him and let him have a gentleman’s chance.”
“You would?” exclaimed Tom, with lively surprise. “And it your first case! And you know perfectly well there never would have been any case if he had got that chance, don’t you? And you’d have finished your days a pauper nobody, instead of being an actually launched and recognized lawyer to-day. And you would really have done that, would you?”
“Certainly.”
Tom looked at him a moment or two, then shook his head sorrowfully and said—
“I believe you—upon my word I do. I don’t know why I do, but I do. Pudd’nhead Wilson, I think you’re the biggest fool I ever saw.”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it.”
“Well, he has been requiring you to fight the Italian and you have refused. You degenerate remnant of an honorable line! I’m thoroughly ashamed of you, Tom!”
“Oh, that’s nothing! I don’t care for anything, now that the will’s torn up again.”
“Tom, tell me squarely—didn’t he find any fault with you for anything but those two things—carrying the case into court and refusing to fight?”