It's all very well when one gets to be a judge and dispense
justice; but--well, it's not for me. I could not do the best for my
clients. And a lawyer has nothing to do with the kingdom of
heaven--only with his clients. He must be a party-man. He must
secure for one so often at the loss of the rest. My duty and my
conscience would always be at strife.'
'Then what will you be, Mr. Ericson?'
'To tell the truth, I would rather be a watchmaker than anything
else I know. I might make one watch that would go right, I suppose,
if I lived long enough. But no one would take an apprentice of my
age. So I suppose I must be a tutor, knocked about from one house
to another, patronized by ex-pupils, and smiled upon as harmless by
mammas and sisters to the end of the chapter. And then something of
a pauper's burial, I suppose. Che sara sara.'
Ericson had sunk into one of his worst moods. But when he saw
Robert looking unhappy, he changed his tone, and would be--what he
could not be--merry.
'But what's the use of talking about it?' he said. 'Get your fiddle,
man, and play The Wind that shakes the Barley.'
'No, Mr. Ericson,' answered Robert; 'I have no heart for the fiddle.
I would rather have some poetry.'
'Oh!--Poetry!' returned Ericson, in a tone of contempt--yet not very
hearty contempt.
'We're gaein' awa', Mr. Ericson,' said Robert; 'an' the Lord 'at we
ken naething aboot alane kens whether we'll ever meet again i' this
place.
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