THE NOTED ADVOCATE.
Lyman must long have indulged his secret study before the observation
of old Buckley Lightfoot fell upon it, for, at the close of the school
term a few weeks later, the teacher announced that he had formed a
co-partnership with John Caruthers, the noted advocate of Old
Ebenezer, and that together they would practice law in the county
seat. He offered to the people no opportunity to bid him good-bye, for
that evening, with his law library under his arm, he set out for the
town, twenty miles away. Old Uncle Buckley, Jimmie and Lige followed
him, but he had chosen a trackless path, and thus escaped their
reproaches.
The noted advocate, John Caruthers, had an office in the third story
of a brick building, which was surely a distinction, being so high
from the ground and in a brick house, too. There he spent his time
smoking a cob pipe and waiting for clients. His office was a small
room at the rear end of the building. The front room, the remainder
of the suite, was a long and narrow apartment, occupied by the Weekly
_Sentinel_, the county newspaper, published by J. Warren, not edited
at all, and written by lawyers and doctors about town. The great
advocate paid his rent with political contributions to the newspaper,
and the editor discharged his rental obligations by supporting the
landlord for congress, a very convenient and comforting arrangement,
as Caruthers explained to Lyman.
"I don't see how we could be more fortunately situated," said he, the
first night after the co-partnership had been effected. "What do you
think of it?"
"I don't know that I could improve on an arrangement that doesn't cost
any money," Lyman answered. He sat looking about the room, at the
meager furniture and the thin array of books. "We've got a start,
anyway, and I don't think Webster could have done anything without a
start. Are all these our books?"
"Yes," said Caruthers, shaking his sandy head. "That is, they are ours
as long as they are here. Once in awhile a man may come in and take
one; but the next day, or the next minute, for that matter, we can go
out and get another. The Old Ebenezer bar has a circulating library."
He yawned and continued: "I think we ought to do well here, with my
experience and your learning. They tell me you can read Greek as well
as some people can read English."
"Yes, some people can't read English."
"I guess you are right," Caruthers laughed. "But they say you can read
Greek like shelling corn, and that will have a big effect with a jury.
Just tell them that the New Testament was written in Greek, and then
give them a few spurts of it, and they've got to come. I had a little
Latin and I did very well with it, but a fellow came along who knew
more of it than I did and crowded me out of my place."
Just then the editor came in. He looked about, nodded at Lyman, whom
he had met earlier in the day, and then sat down, with a sigh.
"Well, I have got a good send off for you fellows--already in type,
but I lack eighty cents of having money enough to get my paper out of
the express office."
No one said anything, for this was sad news. Warren continued: "Yes, I
lack just eighty cents. It's about as good a notice as I ever read,
and it's a pity to let it lie there and rust. Of course I wouldn't ask
either of you for the money: That wouldn't look very well. Eighty
cents, two forties. I could go to some of the advertisers, but an
advertiser loses respect for a paper that needs eighty cents."
"Warren," said Caruthers, "I'd like to see your paper come out, for I
want to read my roast on the last legislature, but I haven't eighty
cents."
Lyman sat looking about with a dozing laugh on his lips: "Are you sure
you'll not need eighty cents every week?" he asked.
The editor's eyes danced a jig of delight. "I may never need it
again," he declared.
"Well, but how often are you going to print a notice of the firm?"
"I don't know. Why?"
"Well, I didn't know but your paper might get stuck in the express
office every time you have something about us. It's likely to go that
way, you know. I've got a few dollars--"
The editor grabbed his hand: "I want to welcome you to our town," he
cried. "You come here with energy and new life. Now, Caruthers, what
the deuce are you laughing at? You know that no one appreciates a man
of force and ideas more than I do. Just let me have the eighty, Mr.
Lyman, for I've got a nigger ready to turn the press. Now, I'm ten
thousand times obliged to you," he effusively added as Lyman gave him
the money.
He hastened out and Caruthers leaned back with a lazy laugh. "He told
the truth about needing the money. I've known his paper to be stuck in
the throat of the press, and all for the want of fifty cents. I'm glad
you let him have it. He's not a bad fellow. He lives in the air. Every
time he touches the earth he gets into trouble."
"So do we all," Lyman replied, "and nearly always on account of money.
I wish there wasn't a penny in the world."
"Sometimes there isn't, so far as I am concerned," Caruthers said.
"No, sir," he added, "they keep money out of my way. And I want to
tell you that I'm not a bad business man, either. But I'm close to
forty and haven't laid up a cent, and nothing that I can ever say in
praise of myself can overcome that fact. I don't see, however, why you
should be a failure. You have generations of money makers behind you."
"Yes, hundreds of years behind me," said Lyman. "And the vein was
worked out long before I came on. There is no failure more complete
than the one that comes along in the wake of success. But I am not
going to remain a failure. I'll strike it after awhile."
"I think you have struck it now," replied Caruthers. "Business will
liven up in a day or two. When a thing touches bottom it can't go any
further down, but it may rise."
"Yes," said Lyman, "unless it continues to lie there."
"But we must stir it up," Caruthers declared. "We've got the
enterprise all right--we've got the will, and now all that's needed is
something for us to take hold of."
"That's about so," Lyman agreed. "Unless a man has something to lift,
he can never find out how strong he is."
And thus they talked until after the midnight hour, until Caruthers,
his feet on a table, his head thrown back, his pipe between the
fingers of his limp hand, fell asleep. Lyman sat there, more
thoughtful, now that he felt alone. At the threshold of a new venture,
we look back upon the hopes that led us into other undertakings, and
upon many a failure we bestow a look of tender but half reproachful
forgiveness. The trials and the final success of other men make us
strong. And with his mild eyes set in review, Lyman thought that never
before had he found himself so well seasoned, so well prepared to do
something. He listened to the grinding of the press, to the midnight
noises about the public square, the town muttering in its sleep. "I am
advancing" he mused, looking about him. "I was not content to skimp
along in New England, nor to buy cross-ties, nor to singe the pin
feathers off a chicken at night, nor to worry with the feeble
machinery of a dull schoolboy's head. And I will not be content merely
to sit here and wait for clients that may never come. I am going to do
something."