“I haven't heard much of it yet,” said old Tom.
“Perhaps I ought to tell you, Mr. Gaylord,” said Austen, smiling a little, “that I didn't come down in any legal capacity. That's only one of Tom's jokes.”
“Then what in h—l did you bring him in here for?” demanded old Tom of his son.
“Just for a quiet little powwow,” said young Tom, “to make you laugh. He's made you laugh before.”
“I don't want to laugh,” said old Tom, pettishly. Nevertheless, he seemed to be visibly cooling. “If you ain't in here to make money,” he added to Austen, “I don't care how long you stay.”
“Say, Austen,” said young Tom, “do you remember the time we covered the old man with shavings at the mills in Avalon, and how he chased us with a two-by-four scantling?”
“I'd made pulp out'n you if I'd got you,” remarked Mr. Gaylord, with a reminiscent chuckle that was almost pleasant. “But you were always a goldurned smart boy, Austen, and you've done well with them little suits.” He gazed at Austen a moment with his small, filmy-blue eye. “I don't know but what you might take hold here and make it hot for those d-d rascals in the Northeastern, after all. You couldn't botch it worsen Hammer has, and you might do some good. I said I'd make 'em dance, and by G-d, I'll do it, if I have to pay that Teller Levering in New York, and it takes the rest of my life. Look the situation over, and come back to-morrow and tell me what you think of it.”
“I can tell you what I think of it now, Mr. Gaylord,” said Austen.
“What's that?” old Tom demanded sharply.
“That you'll never get the bill passed, this session or next, by lobbying.”