A door bearing the legend,
"Robert Allen, Attorney at Law," admitted him to a large, bare office,
such as one finds in such towns as Coldriver.
"Howdy, Bob?" said Scattergood.
"Good day, Mr. Baines," said the young man behind the desk, who had
suddenly pretended to be very much occupied with important matters as
his door opened.
"Um!... Busy time, eh? Better come back later."
"No. No, indeed. Take this chair right here, Mr. Baines. What can I do
for you?"
"Depends. Uh-huh! Depends.... Calc'late to make a perty good livin',
Bob?"
"No complaints."
"Studied it yourself, didn't you--out of books? No college?"
"Yes."
"Hard work, wasn't it? Mighty hard work?"
"It might have been easier," said Bob, wondering what Scattergood was
getting at.
"Like to be prosecutin' attorney for this county, Bob?"
Prosecuting attorney! With a salary of twenty-five hundred dollars a
year--and the prestige! Bob strove valiantly to maintain a look of
dignified interest, but with ill success.
"I--I might consider it. Yes, I would consider it."
"Um!... Figgered you would," said Scattergood, dryly. "Hain't got no
help in the office," he observed.
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