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 “And I am nearly seventy-eight. I am getting to be an old man. I can recall the names of but two or three who were in public life during My Administration. What did you say is the nature of this position that is offered you, William?”

“A Federal judgeship, father. I believe it is considered to be a somewhat flattering tender. It is outside of politics and wire-pulling, you know.”

“No doubt, no doubt. Few of the Pembertons have engaged in professional life for nearly a century. None of them have ever held Federal positions. They have been landholders, slave-owners, and planters on a large scale. One or two of the Derwents—your mother’s family—were in the law. Have you decided to accept this appointment, William?”

“I am thinking it over,” said Billy, slowly, regarding the ash of his cigar.

“You have been a good son to me,” continued the Governor, stirring his pipe with the handle of a penholder.

“I’ve been your son all my life,” said Billy, darkly.

“I am often gratified,” piped the Governor, betraying a touch of complacency, “by being congratulated upon having a son with such sound and sterling qualities. Especially in this, our native town, is your name linked with mine in the talk of our citizens.”

“I never knew anyone to forget the vinculum,” murroured Billy, unintelligibly.

“Whatever prestige,” pursued the parent, “I may be possessed of, by virtue of my name and services to the state, has been yours to draw upon freely. I have not