“It has been said, Mr. Choate,” I went on, “that you often ascribe both
your success in particular cases, and your general success at the bar,
to good luck and happy accidents.”
“Just so, just so,” he answered, smiling in a manner that is at once
a question and a mark of approbation. “I hope I have always made the
most of good luck and happy accidents. We all should. My friend,
John E. Parsons, once denounced a defendant insurance company as a
‘vampire,—one of those bloodless creatures that feed on the blood
of the people.’ It was a savage address of the old-fashioned style,
and convincing, until I asked the judge and jury if they knew what a
vampire really is. ‘Look at the Quaker gentleman who is president of
this company,’ I said, pointing him out. ‘Also look at that innocent
young man, his attorney, who sits next to him with a smile on his face.
You thought vampires were something out of the way when Brother Parsons
described them, but these are regular, genuine vampires.’ That brought
a laugh and good feeling, and I suppose you might call the whole thing
an opportunity to turn a bad assault into a helpful incident.”
The great lawyer was a study as he spoke, his easy, unaffected attitude
and bearing itself carrying weight. His manner of accepting the
intrusion with mild acquiescence and attention, but with no intention
of allowing himself to be bored, was interesting. It has become
customary to say that he is a poor politician, and as the term is
ordinarily employed and understood, he is, because he is ever ready
to say what he really thinks. It is precisely this quality, this
freedom from cowardice, this detestation of truckling to ignorance and
brutality, this independence, that cause him to stand out so boldly in
the legal profession.