He would have put on
towards him a patronizing air, and tried to excite in his mind a
nobler ambition than to move in our circumscribed sphere, if
something in the young man's steady, penetrating, half-mysterious
eye had not always held him back:
"I never can talk with that young associate or yours, uncle," he
would say, now and then, to Judge Bigelow, "and I can't just make
him out. Is he stupid, or queer?"
The Judge would smile, or laugh quietly to himself, or perhaps
answer in this wise:
"I think Henry understands himself. Still waters, you know, run
deep."
One day in February, on the occasion of a periodical visit to S----,
young Dewey called in at Judge Bigelow's office, and finding
Wallingford alone, sat down and entered into as familiar a talk with
him as was possible, considering how little they had in common.
Ralph had a purpose in view, and as soon as he saw, or thought he
saw, Wallingford's mind in the right mood, said--
"I am going to ask a particular favor, and you must not refuse."
"If I can serve you in any thing, it will be my pleasure to do so,"
was the ready answer.
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