"Oh, I liked it," I replied awkwardly.
I read a gentle amusement in his eyes, and also the expression of something else, difficult to define. He had seated himself, and was absently thrusting at the logs with the poker.
"You've never regretted going into law?" he asked suddenly, to my surprise.
"Why, no, sir," I said.
"I'm glad to hear that. I feel, to a considerable extent, responsible for your choice of a profession."
"My father intended me to be a lawyer," I told him. "But it's true that you gave me my—my first enthusiasm."
He looked up at me at the word.
"I admired your father. He seemed to me to be everything that a lawyer should be. And years ago, when I came to this city a raw country boy from upstate, he represented and embodied for me all the fine traditions of the profession. But the practice of law isn't what it was in his day, Hugh."
"No," I agreed, "that could scarcely be expected."
"Yes, I believe you realize that," he said. "I've watched you, I've taken a personal pride in you, and I have an idea that eventually you will succeed me here—neither Fowndes nor Ripon have the peculiar ability you have shown. You and I are alike in a great many respects, and I am inclined to think we are rather rare, as men go. We are able to keep one object vividly in view, so vividly as to be able to work for it day and night. I could mention dozens who had and have more natural talent for the law than I, more talent for politics than I. The same thing may be said about you. I don't regard either of us as natural lawyers, such as your father was. He couldn't help being a lawyer."