Henry Wallingford was the son of an old friend of Squire Floyd's. The elder Mr. Wallingford was not a man of the Squire's caution and prudence. He was always making mistakes in matters of business, and never succeeded well in any thing. He died when his son was about eighteen years of age. Henry was at that time studying law with Judge Bigelow. As, in the settlement of his father's estate, it was found to be wholly insolvent, Henry, unwilling to be dependent on his mother, who had a small income in her own right, gave notice to the Judge that he was about to leave his office. Now, the Judge was a man of penetration, and had already discovered in the quiet, reserved young man, just the qualities needed to give success in the practice of law. He looked calmly at his student for some moments after receiving this announcement, conning over his face, which by no means gave indications of a happy state of mind.
“You think you can find a better preceptor?” said the Judge, at last, in his calm way.
“No, sir! no!” answered Henry, quickly. “Not in all this town, nor out of it, either. It is not that, Judge Bigelow.”
“Then you don't fancy the law?”
“On the contrary, there is no other calling in life that presents to my mind any thing attractive,” replied Henry, in a tone of despondency that did not escape the Judge.
“Well, if that is the case, why not keep on? You are getting along bravely.”
“I must support myself, sir—must do something besides sitting here and reading law books.”
“Ah, yes, I see.” The Judge spoke to himself, as if light had broken into his mind. “Well, Henry,” he added, looking at the young man, “what do you propose doing?”
“I have hands and health,” was the reply.
“Something more than hands and health are required in this world. What can you do?”