Part 43 (1/2)

”Yes, sir. What the great corporations want, and want badly, even with all the good legal talent they've got, is an attorney of extraordinary abilities, and this you have. I understand that the legal luminary of that reform set in San Francisco has offered to take you into his office. That's about as great a compliment as even you could have, but there's nothing in it. They're playing a losing game. They ought to win, but they won't. The San Francis...o...b..ss may be what we elegantly term a shyster lawyer, but there never was as clever a one; and there's no trick he doesn't know. He'll beat them at every turn. You'd only make one more of that estimable Don Quixote band. Don't waste your youth.

Study corporation law with all your might and main, and _I'll_ place you where you'll make a big income from the start--and it'll grow bigger every year. Then when your turn comes to vote and run for office--why, the whole field will be open to you to pick and choose from.

Corporations are not ungrateful, and with a mighty one behind you, I guess you wouldn't whistle for anything, long.”

Gwynne regarded the thin sole of his house shoe with so rueful a countenance that the judge laughed outright. ”Have you really had thoughts of working up a reform party?” he cried, the dancing imps in his eyes almost escaping.

”Well, I may have dreamed a bit that way. You see, I come of a family of reformers.” And he gave the judge a rapid sketch of the part his English forefathers had played in the great reform acts of their country. The judge nodded sympathetically.

”Just so. I understand your point of view perfectly. Perfectly. But those great movements in England are matched here by spasms only. This country is too big and too heterogeneous. Don't set yourself between two cast-iron walls, Mr. Gwynne, because when they do get a concerted move on, they fly like h.e.l.l. Join either of the parties, and you will find not only that it is not half as bad as it is painted, but that it accomplishes far more good than harm, many real reforms, that are systematically ignored by the press.”

”I thought you said that reforms were impossible in this country.”

”Oh, bless my soul, no. That would mean that we were going straight to the dogs. Reforms are going on every minute. The country is more tolerable and civilized every decade. What I mean is that no reform can be accomplished until the time is ripe for it. That is the reason why our spasms amount to nothing. They are always premature. But if you really want to do this country a service throw in your lot with the regulars. You would always be an influence for good, and when you saw the first opening for the correction of some crying abuse, you would have powerful machinery at hand to work with. What you want to do, Mr.

Gwynne, is to become a powerful factor in the machine, not waste your time on windmills.”

”Which machine?” asked Gwynne, ingenuously. ”I don't fancy I could ever make up my mind. They seem precisely alike to me.”

”Well,” said the judge, slowly, although he brushed the tip of his nose aside with more violence than usual. ”I don't like advising, particularly a young man of your distinguished abilities and achievements. But I really think I am better able to advise you than Leslie, and certainly every man of us should feel a sense of responsibility to the old Otis--and Adams!--blood. I will say frankly that in your place I should join the party that owns this State--and shows no signs of letting go; in other words, the Republican. I can well understand, that having been a Liberal--and to the extent of renouncing your t.i.tles!--the Democratic would appeal to you. But don't waste your time, Mr. Gwynne. You are thirty-two. You don't want to throw away the next ten years on a losing game, and then, tired out, arrive nowhere.

You would fight so hard that all your energies would be second-rate by that time. You want to begin right now and swim with the tide. Nurse your great energies for the exactions of the victorious career. You'll need them. And need them fresh.”

”That sounds like good advice, but the whole political game appals me when I consider that it will be six years before I can even run for the House of Representatives--”

”True! True! Pity your parents didn't lose you. But everything turns out for the best. Meanwhile, you can make name and fortune as a corporation lawyer. And you can't have too much money in this world, sir. You can't have too much money in this world.”

It was on the tip of Gwynne's tongue to ask him bluntly what corporation he had in mind, but not only did his already boiling humor recoil from the indignity of a deliberately worded bribe, but he doubted if it would be proffered so early in the game. He had a very clever man to deal with; it was not likely he would make the mistake of a direct approach.

Gwynne flattered himself that he looked as ingenuous as Tom Colton, but as he had seen through the complacent judge, it was possible that the judge might entertain suspicions of a man with his reputation. He was glad he had not spoken when his visitor rose abruptly to his feet.

”Bless my soul!” he exclaimed. ”I shall miss my train if I don't hurry.

And heaven forbid that I spend another night in this mud-hole. My address is on my card--when do you come down again?”

”There is a lecture at Berkeley on Wednesday--”

”Good! Now, you will dine with me next Wednesday night--and I hope on many other nights. We must have several long talks--and all about your future, young man. I am too old to talk about my own, but I remember what I was at your age. Tactful, hey? But no,” dropping his voice gravely. ”I want to help you. And I can. Whatever branch of the law you specialize upon, you must leave Rosewater and come to San Francisco. I can place you in an office--even should you decide upon general practice--that will carry you swifter and further than our reform friend can, because he is playing a losing game--a losing game, sir. But we'll talk of all that later. I must hasten.”

Gwynne escorted him to the head of the staircase, where he resisted an impulse to kick him down, then, after a hasty glance into the dictionary, encased himself in rubber and went up the hill to the home of Judge Leslie. He was to dine there, and it was but a quarter-past four, but what he had to say and ask would not keep for an hour and three-quarters.

IV

On his way to the house he decided that he could not confide even to Judge Leslie that he had been singled out as likely spoil by the ”grafters.” No doubt that in a way it was a compliment to his abilities, this early-conceived determination to whisk him out of the reform field and engross his abilities, killing two birds with one stone. Probably he would be approached in a similar manner very often, until he became a definite quant.i.ty, and in time would grow accustomed to it; and callous.

But at present he was hot and sickened, the more so as he felt that he had received a new impulse to believe in himself. These vast corporations--the railroad, street railways, lighting, and telephone companies, were the ones that dictated to San Francisco, and were supposed to have debauched the Board of Supervisors, all of them small laborers, elevated by the Boss to serve his ends--counted their capital by the millions; in one case, at least, by the hundred million. They had already bought much of the best talent in the country, and they wasted no time on the second-rate. Gwynne could easily guess in whose teeming and orderly brain the scheme to seduce and attach himself had been shaped, and, with the American contempt for the perspicacity of any foreigner, had selected this judge, with his breezy direct tactful manner, as certain to edge the newcomer into the fold. To Gwynne the only saving grace in the whole interview was that he had not been tempted. Had he been he should have felt utterly demoralized, disposed to take himself at the valuation of the business-like unsentimental brains in power.

He found his judge awakening from a nap before his library fire and dusting the crumbs from his beard.

”This is an unexpected pleasure,” the old gentleman began, then stopped short. ”What is the matter?” he asked, anxiously. ”Sit down.”