Part 1 (2/2)
Strong, on the other hand, was of shorter statue; his face was the perfect picture of mirthfulness; there was a wonderful magnetism in his smile and hand-clasp; but when in repose a close look at his face revealed, below the mirthfulness, that calm which is the close attendant upon conscious power.
As they reached their seats Alex spoke:
”You were awfully good to-night, Colonel.”
”Of course; I always am. But what has awakened your appreciation to-night?”
”I thought my speech was horrible.”
”For once it would require a brave man to doubt your judgment,” said the Colonel, sententiously.
”I was sure of it until I heard you speak; then I recovered my self-respect, believing that, by comparison, my speech would ring in the memories of the listeners, like a psalm.”
”You mean Sam, the town-crier and bootblack. His brain is a little weak, but his lungs are superb.”
”I believe you are jealous of his voice, Colonel. But sit down: I want to tell you about the most unregenerate soul on earth.”
”Proceed, Alex, only do not forget that under the merciful statutes of the State of Nevada no man is obliged to make statements which will criminate himself.”
”What a comfort that knowledge must be to you.”
”It often is. My heart is full of sympathy for the unfortunate, and more than once have I seen eyes grow bright when I have given that information to a client.”
”The study of that branch of law must have had a peculiar fascination to you.”
”Indeed, it did, Alex. At every point where the law draws the s.h.i.+eld of its mercy around the accused, in thought it seemed made for one or another of my friends, and, mentally, I found myself defending one after the other of them.”
”Did you, at the same time, keep in thought the fact that in an emergency the law permits a man to plead his own cause?”
”Never, on my honor. In those days my life was circ.u.mspect, even as it now is, and my a.s.sociates--not as now--were so genteel that there was no danger of any suspicion attaching to me, because of the people I was daily seen with.”
”That was good for you, but what sort of reputations did your a.s.sociates have?” asked Alex.
”They went on from glory to glory. One became a conductor on a railroad, and in four years, at a salary of one hundred dollars per month, retired rich. One became a bank cas.h.i.+er, and three years later, through the advice of his physicians, settled in the soft climate of Venice, with which country we have no extradition treaty. Another one is a broker here in this city, and I am told, is doing so well that he hopes next year to be superintendent of a mine.”
”Why have you not succeeded better, Colonel, financially?”
”I am too honest. Every day I stop law suits which I ought to permit to go on. Every day I do work for nothing which I ought to charge for. I tell you, Alex, I would sooner be right than be President.”
”I cannot, just now, recall any one who knows you, Colonel, who does not feel the same way about you.”
”That is because the most of my friends are dull, men, like yourself.
But how prospers that newspaper?”
”It is the same old, steady grind,” replied Alex, thoughtfully. ”I saw a blind horse working in a whim yesterday. As he went round and round, there seemed on his face a look of anxiety to find out how much longer that road of his was, and I said to him, compa.s.sionately: 'Old Spavin, you know something of what it is to work on a daily paper.' I went to the shaft and watched the buckets as they came up, and there was only one bucket of ore to ten buckets of waste. Then I went back to the horse and said to him: 'You do not know the fact, you blissfully ignorant old brute, but your work is mightily like ours, one bucket of ore to ten of waste.'”
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