“And how about you, Solomon?”
“Equally a calamity. Mr. Price, you don't seem able to grasp just what we look like!”
“The mind's the only measure of the man, Solomon. If anybody can talk to me and be unaware that they are conversing with a gentleman, all I can say is their experience has been as pitiable as their intelligence is meager. But it hurts me when you intimate that I stand in the way of the boy's opportunity.”
“Price, what do you; suppose we look like—you and I?”
“In a general way, Solomon, I am conscious that our appeal is to the brain rather than the eye,” answered the judge, with dignity.
“I reckon even you couldn't do a much lower trick than use the boy as a stepping-stone,” pursued Mahaffy.
“I don't see how you have the heart to charge me with such a purpose—I don't indeed, Solomon.” The judge spoke with deep feeling; he was really hurt.
“Well, you let the boy have his chance, and don't you stick in your broken oar,” cried Mahaffy fiercely.
The judge rolled over on his back, and stared up at the heavens.
“This is a new aspect of your versatile nature, Solomon. Must I regard you as a personally emancipated moral influence, not committed to the straight and narrow path yourself, but still close enough to it to keep my feet from straying?” he at length demanded.