“I live in hope,” said Austen, wondering how soon this larger case was going to unfold itself.
“Let me see,” said Mr. Crewe, “isn't your father the chief attorney in this State for the Northeastern? How do you happen to be on the other side?”
“By the happy accident of obtaining a client,” said Austen.
Mr. Crewe glanced at him again. In spite of himself, respect was growing in him. He had expected to find a certain amount of eagerness and subserviency—though veiled; here was a man of different calibre than he looked for in Ripton.
“The fact is,” he declared, “I have a grievance against the Northeastern Railroads, and I have made up my mind that you are the man for me.”
“You may have reason to regret your choice,” Austen suggested.
“I think not,” replied Mr. Crewe, promptly; “I believe I know a man when I see one, and you inspire me with confidence. This matter will have a double interest for you, as I understand you are fond of horses.”
“Horses?”
“Yes,” Mr. Crewe continued, gaining a little heat at the word, “I bought the finest-lookin' pair you ever saw in New York this spring,—all-around action, manners, conformation, everything; I'll show 'em to you. One of 'em's all right now; this confounded railroad injured the other gettin' him up here. I've put in a claim. They say they didn't, my man says they did. He tells me the horse was thrown violently against the sides of the car several times. He's internally injured. I told 'em I'd sue 'em, and I've decided that you are the man to take the case—on conditions.”
Austen's sense of humour saved him,—and Mr. Humphrey Crewe had begun to interest him. He rose and walked to the window and looked out for a few moments over the flower garden before he replied:—“On what conditions?”