"I shan't read law, after all," he said slowly. "There is a business opening for me here, and I'll take advantage of it." He spoke in set phrases, as if he had rehearsed the sentences many times. "Business!" echoed the judge incredulously. "Why, what business is going on in Kingsborough?" Nicholas flushed a deep red, but his glance did not waver. "Jerry Pollard wants me in his store, sir." The judge removed his glasses, wiped them deliberately on his silk handkerchief, put them on again, and regarded the younger man attentively. "And you wish to go into Jerry Pollard's store?" he inquired. "I think it is the best thing I can do." "The best paying thing, I presume?" "Yes, sir." "Bless my soul!" exclaimed the judge testily. "What is the world coming to? I suppose Tom will be writing me next that he intends to keep a stall in market. Well, you know best, of course. You may do as you please; but may I ask if you are going to bargain in Latin and multiply by criminal law in Jerry Pollard's store?" "No, sir." "Then, what in the--what in the--I really feel the need of a strong expression--what in the world did you take the trouble to educate yourself for?" Nicholas was looking at the floor, and he did not raise his eyes. His face was hard and set. "Because I was a fool," he answered shortly. "And now, if I may ask?" "A fool still--but I've found it out." The judge leaned back in his chair and tapped the ledge of his desk meditatively. "Have you fully decided?" he asked. Nicholas nodded. "I have thought it over," he said quietly. "Then there's nothing to be done, I suppose. I hope the compensation will satisfy you. Jerry Pollard is said to be somewhat tight-fisted, but your business instincts may be equal to his acquirements. Now, I have a number of letters, so, if you don't mind, I will bid you good-day." He bowed, and Nicholas left the study and went out of the house. Rain was still falling, and small pools of water had formed on the palace green. Straight ahead the lane of maples stretched like a line of half-extinguished fires, and the ground beneath was strewn with wet, red leaves. The slanting sheets of rain gave a sombre aspect to the town--to the time-beaten buildings along the unpaved streets and to the commons, where the water stood in grassy hollows. Beneath the gray sky the scene assumed a spectre-like suggestion of death and decay--the death of laughter that seemed still to echo faintly from the vanished stones--the decay of royal charters and of kingly grants. The very air was reminiscent of a yesterday that was perished; the red, wet leaves painted the brown earth in historic colours.