"It's the soft Irish heart in you that makes you say that?" "Mr. Healey, Harry could get that much money from other drillers. Do you want to keep him? If not, I'll tell him to go. Why should he not make as much money for such dangerous work as other men do?" "So, it's fairness, is it?" "Fairness has nothing to do with it. Money has." Mr. Healey smoked for a few moments. Then he said, "Irish, you are not as tough as you believe you are, I am thinking. You've got wounds, you have, and they don't heal, so you stand guard over them with your pistol cocked for fear of them bleeding again. Boyo, every man has his wounds, even me. And that explains a lot about human nature which the .Religious don't know about. When you talk about 'fairness' to Harry, you are thinking about yourself, and damn me if I don't think that explains the saints, too!" He was elated with his sudden intuition and insisted on Joseph joining him, in the study, for a glass of brandy. "Yes, sir," he said, "a man don't want something for somebody else unless he thinks of himself in the same hole. Drink up, Irish. Life's not as sour as you think it is. At your age! Damn me, but I was a fine cockerel when I was eighteen, and not a monk like you!" That had been ten months ago. Haroun was now earning eighteen dollars a week and Joseph-who did not consider it surprising though his associates did-was receiving thirty-eight dollars a week. In a town where a doctor or a lawyer felt affluent if his earnings were thirty-five dollars a Week this was remarkable. Joseph paid Mr. Healey five dollars a week for his board, something which Mr. Healey found hilarious though Joseph could see no occasion for amusement. He put his savings in the bank. He would not have spent money on clothing had not Mr. Healey been insistent. "I'll have no ragged beggars working for me!" So he dressed somberly and plainly and cleanly. Not for him the ruffled shirts of the men in the offices or the rich jewelry. He wore modest clothing of a dark cut, unbe- decked white shirts and a cheap watch across his lean middle. His boots were inexpensive but polished. His russet hair might be shorter than was fashionable but it was well-barbered. His changes of pantaloons and waistcoats were fewer, but the clothing was meticulous and spare. He was never to have the easy grace of his father, but he did have something of Mr. Montrose's obvious discipline of movement and economy of words. He was invariably grave and unsmiling, and sleeplessly industrious and aware. Mr. Healey, regarding him covertly, often nodded to himself. But he could not understand Joseph's joylessness. The saints know, Mr. Healey would think, I've had as rough a road as this young spalpeen, but it never took away my appetite and my enjoyment in living. There's fury in this boyo, I'm thinking, but the fury will never get in the way of what he wants. It'll only kindle it higher. In an effort to awaken Joseph's joy in living-which Mr. Healey fully believed lay latent in every man-he gave Joseph a silver token which would admit him to any brothel he desired in Titusville, and to the prettiest girl, and at no cost. "I've got the handsomest wenches in the whole Commonwealth," he said. "Never one over sixteen, youngest about twelve. Farm-fed, rich with butter and cream, plump as doves. Makes a man smack his lips. They know all the tricks. I've got madams who teach 'em. No gutter drabs in my houses! All clean and scented and healthy, and not cheap. You go and have a good time, boyo." "No," said Joseph. Mr. Healey frowned. "You ain't got a hankering for-? No, reckon not, though you never can tell. Well, you're only nineteen still. Hell, they say that's the hottest time. Think so, myself. Couldn't stay away from the wenches, when I was eighteen, nineteen. Just about used myself up." He chuckled. "You keep that token. One of these days, you damned monk, you, you'll look at it, spit on it, and polish it, and off you'll go just like everybody else." On three nights a week after supper at five o'clock, Joseph went to the office of Mr. James Spaulding, a lawyer whom Mr. Healey "owned." He also spent two hours on Saturday afternoon there, and half a day on Sunday. Here he studied law with Mr. Spaulding as his teacher. Mr. Spaulding was a man to whom the word "creamy" could be most aptly applied. He was as tall as Joseph, but pleasantly massive though not fat. Not one of his expressions was sincere, except avarice. He was fifty years old and kept his long, waving gray hair dyed a rich chestnut, and it flowed to his nape. He was clean-shaven; his features were big and somewhat rubbery, which gave them their mobility. There was nothing edgy, awkward, abrupt or combative about Mr. Spaulding, and no one, not even liis wife and his wenches, ever guessed his true nature. Blanc Mange, thought Joseph on first seeing him, remembering his mother's pale bland I pudding which quivered slightly when moved and had no character or no emphatic taste. He almost immediately revised his opinion, and for Joseph to revise his opinion was an event that was deeply disturbing to himself, for it lowered him in his own rigid estimation. Mr. Spaulding had a large face in proportion with his bodily measurements, the face of a blackguard or a successful politician, and his eyes were the same color as his hair. His expression was one of composed amiability and sweetness, enhanced by a tender smile and a deep dimple in his chin and one in his left cheek. His voice was velvety and rich, like warm chocolate, and resounding and even musical, never grating, never quickened, never hostile even to the most recalcitrant. He invariably wore black and gray-striped pantaloons, nicely cut, a long black coat, a shirt with a wide soft white collar, and black silk cravats fastened with one pearl pin of impressive size. Always suave, always considerate and polite, always deferential, speaking in periods, always sympathetic and conciliatory and attentive, he was a most dangerous and clever man. Truth to him was an uncivilized attribute and a gentleman never used it if a colorful lie could be used instead, and he had no honor and no principles and was always for hire. He knew law thoroughly and had a memory which none could surpass. He admired but two categories of men: the very rich who could pay well and so had power, and the intelligent. This did not mean that he liked them. Mr. Spaulding never liked anyone but himself and love was a word he used only in the courtroom to move "the jackasses" to tears and a favorable verdict. His opinion of judges was little less unflattering. If they could be bought he respected them. If they could not be bought he despised them. He had two sons who lived in Philadelphia, and were as unscrupulous as himself. They sought his advice on the most difficult cases-and paid well for the advice. Mr. Spaulding was not one for family feeling, nor were his sons. They were very successful but they did not make, together, half the money Mr. Spaulding made in Tirusville, and Mr. Spaulding's interests were not confined to Law. (He spoke in capitals.) He and Mr. Healcy were as much friends as two such men could possibly be. There was a symbiosis between them. When Mr. Healey brought Joseph to him Mr. Spaulding thought, What's the old bastard up to behind my back? He smiled happily and gave Joseph a warm and meaty hand to shake and made his eyes shine .paternally. "Jim," said Mr. Healey, "this here boyo is Joseph Francis, he calls himself. Good enough moniker if he likes it. Ain't in no trouble with the police; no one's looking for him. Teaching him my business. Mr. Montrose thinks he's right smart and no fool. So I thought, seeing he's learning to handle my business, he ought to learn law, too, and who's better to teach law than old Jim, I said to meself." Mr. Spaulding had long wanted to "handle" Mr. Healey's business, and so had one of his sons. Mr. Spaulding's smile grew wider and more glistening, and fonder as he studied this raw youth in his plain clothing. Was old Ed getting senile? Then Mr. Spaulding remembered that Mr. Healey was a considerable number of years his junior. He wafted the two visitors to two of the six black leather chairs in his office, sat down behind his mahogany desk, folded his hands as if preparing to pray, and suffused his face with love and attention. His office was large and warm in the October chill, and a fire rustled briskly in the grate of the black marble fireplace. There were several worthy Currier-Ives prints on his paneled walls, and a noble view of the distant gaudy hills-resplendent in autumn fire-through his wide window. It was a brilliant day with a sky like blue polished enamel. "Sharp as horse-radish, this boyo," said Mr. Healey. "That's what Mr. Montrose says." "No one," said Mr. Spaulding in a middle-octave organ note, "has a higher respect for Mr. Montrose's opinion than I have. No indeedy." He wore a signet ring and a wat
ch chain and everything about him was decorous, solid, and reliable. Sunlight lay on his imposing wall of law books and on his deep crimson thick rug. His fingernails, broad but shallow, were faintly tinted pink and shone with buffing. What the hell? he thought and looked more closely at Joseph, who was scrutinizing him in turn. This took Mr. Spaulding aback somewhat. He was not accustomed to strangers, and especially callow strangers, studying him coldly and showing no signs of being impressed with his office or his person. Joseph suddenly seemed hostile, to him, and this was sheer impudence. Who did the young rat think he was, to stare at James Spaulding in such a cynical fashion? Weighing him, by God! Looking him up and down as if he were a houseman humbly searching for a job! Mr. Spaulding did not like small sunken blue eyes, and particularly not these with the darker spark glittering in their depths. He did not like reddish hair on a man, nor freckles, nor stark pallor which hinted at an uncomfortable asceticism. A sharpie, thought Mr. Spaulding, city scum picked up from God knows where by this fool of a Healey. Perhaps a wood's colt, Mr. Spaulding's thoughts continued, and he smiled benignly at Joseph who did not smile in response. Joseph thought, An actor, a smooth criminal, a liar and a thief, and never to be trusted for one instant. Mr. Healey leaned back expansively in his chair. "He can come couple of nights, and time on Saturdays and Sundays. Teach him fast, Jim, and you'll not regret it. Criminal law, and such. And a lot about politics. Aim to make him governor some day," and Mr. Healey grinned. "Could use a governor in my business." A sum was named, hands were shaken, cigars passed, and little glasses of brandy. Joseph accepted his glass and sipped at it slowly, watching Mr. Spaulding openly or covertly as his rapid thoughts continued. Mr. Spaulding in his turn watched Joseph, and all at once he said to himself, aghast, This one's meaner than a rattlesnake! Mr. Spaulding was shaken as he had not been shaken for many years. He reconsidered Joseph and now it seemed to him that Joseph was not a callow youth but an aged and powerful man, crusted with experience and knowledge as a rock is crusted with shells. It was incredible! This impression did not diminish when Joseph became his student. Joseph seemed not to enjoy the study of law, but he pursued that study with intense concentration as a means to an end, and this Mr. Spaulding guessed almost at once. Then Mr. Spaulding acquired a hating respect for the youth, for Joseph's mind raced but not with immoderation or facility. He seized a problem in law, as it were, with his teeth and shook it until it gave up its solution, and often that solution had not occurred to Mr. Spaulding, himself. His memory was apparently as prodigious as Mr. Spaulding's own. Once he said to Joseph, "It is not what the Law says that is important. It is how it is interpreted, how it is used-" "Yes," said Joseph. "Law is a harlot." Mr. Spaulding cleared his throat and assumed a shocked expression. "Hardly that, dear boy, hardly that. No indeedy. But the Law, it has been said, is a blunt Instrument. One must learn to soften its Blows or turn them aside, if possible."