re in this little,
uneventful town, where the world was finished, never more to change.
Franklin shuddered. Was this, then, to be his life? He turned to the
rows of scuffed-backed law books on their shelves. Then he turned
again to his letter, and to the window, and to the birds and the grass.
He caught himself noting how long the dog's hind leg looked, how
impossible the angle between the fore leg and the spine, as it half sat
in flea-compelled contortions.

There came a regular tread upon the stair, as there had always for
years come at this hour of half past seven in the morning, rain or
shine. Judge Bradley entered, tall, portly, smooth shaven, his silk
hat pushed back upon his brow, as was his fashion. Franklin turned to
make the usual morning salutation.

"Good-morning, Ned," said the Judge, affably.

"Good-morning, Judge," said Franklin. "I hope you are well."

"Yes, thank you. Nothing ever the matter with me. How are things
coming?"

"Oh, all right, thank you."

This was the stereotyped form of the daily greeting between the two.
Judge Bradley turned as usual to his desk, but, catching sight of the
letter still held in Franklin's hand, remarked carelessly:

"Got a letter from your girl?"

"Not so lucky," said Franklin. "From a friend."

Silence resulted. Judge Bradley opened his desk, took off his coat and
hung it on a nail, after his custom, thereafter seating himself at his
desk, with the official cough which signified that the campaign of the
day had begun. He turned over the papers for a moment, and remarked
absent-mindedly, and more to be polite than because the matter
interested him, "Friend, eh?"

"Yes," said Franklin, "friend, out West"; and both relapsed again into
silence. Franklin once more fell to gazing out of the window, but at
length turned toward the desk and pulled over his chair to a closer
speaking distance.

"Judge Bradley," said he, "I shouldn't wonder if I could pass my
examination for the bar."

"Well, now," said the Judge, "I hope you can. That's nice. Goin' to
hang out your own shingle, eh?"

"I might, if I got my license."

"Oh, that's easy," replied the other; "it's mostly a matter of form.
The court'll appoint a committee of three members of the bar, an'
they'll tell you when they want to see you for the circus--some evening
after court. They'll ask you where you've been readin' law, an' for
how long. If you tell 'em you've read in my office, it'll b