Austen bit his lip, and then laughed outright,—the canonization of old Tom Gaylord being too much for him.
“Now, Judge,” he said, “it isn't like you to draw hasty conclusions. Because I sat down to supper with the Gaylords it isn't fair to infer that they have retained me in a legislative case.”
The Honourable Hilary did not respond to his son's humour, but shifted the Honey Dew to the left cheek.
“Old Tom going in for reform?”
“He may bring it about,” answered Austen, instantly becoming serious again, “whether he's going in for it or not.”
For the first time the Honourable Hilary raised his eyes to his son's face, and shot at him a penetrating look of characteristic shrewdness. But he followed in conversation the same rule as in examining a witness, rarely asking a direct question, except as a tactical surprise.
“Old Tom ought to have his railroad, oughtn't he?”
“So far as I can see, it would be a benefit to the people of that part of the State,” said Austen.
“Building it for the people, is he?”
“His motive doesn't count. The bill should be judged on its merits, and proper measures for the safeguarding of public interests should be put into it.”