"I want to tell you that Beekman isn't one of the submerged, as you say. He's got a practice here that yields him at least seventy-five hundred a year, which means that he's a wonderful man, because he's only thirty, or a little under, with no political pull. He makes his living out of the law pure and simple, not out of Wall Street, or real estate deals, or the criminal classes, either."
"Well, then, if he's not a criminal lawyer, we certainly do not want him," protested the Colonel's rich client.
"I like Beekman," proceeded the Colonel, ignoring the comment, "because, in a measure, he reminds me of myself, though he has something that I never had. Like me, he's a free lance. He never hooked up in partnership with anybody. When he tries a case he does it as I do—not with his associate holding his hand on one side and a couple of assistants holding his hand on the other—but alone with a couple of scraps of paper, and the rest of his case in his head. I like Beekman first-rate." He hitched his chair close to Wilkinson's. "But that isn't the point. The gist of the whole thing is this: There's one thing that Beekman can do better than any other lawyer in New York; one thing that he can do that most lawyers can't do at all. He is able to impress his jury with his own absolute belief in his client's cause. He's sincere, and the jury know it. And that's three-quarters of the battle. Oh, we'll all be there, Peter, on the show-down, but you can imagine me trying to impress a jury with my belief in my client's honesty, can't you? Oh, yes, my cleverness is conceded; they'd all laugh, and say, 'Strike one for the Colonel,' and all that sort of thing. But ten chances to one they'd find the other way. I wish I had that strange thing that Beekman has got! All my life I've wanted it."
Wilkinson fidgeted about. He didn't see this as the Colonel did. Nevertheless he answered:
"What you say goes, Morehead!"
The Colonel jerked his head and became the least bit more confidential.
"But the trick is to be sure that Beekman actually does believe in you. But, Peter, we're fortunate in one respect—I would have retained him anyway—but this development is certainly fortuitous: He wants to marry your daughter Leslie."
Wilkinson's face reddened; his Van Dyke bristled with opposition.