“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 be all right.  I never knew ’em to fail to pass a student that had read with me—­it wouldn’t be professional courtesy to me.  You’ll go through all right, don’t worry.  You want to post up on a few such questions as, ‘What is the law?’ and ’What are the seven—­or is it eight?—­forms of actions at law?’ Then you want to be able to answer on ’What was the rule in Shelley’s Case?’ There’s sure to be some fool or other that’ll ask you that question, just to show off—­I don’t remember what the d——­d thing is myself—­and you’ll never hear of it again; but you get fixed to answer them three questions, an’ you can be admitted to the bar all right anywhere in the State of Illinois, or leastways in this county.  Then it’s customary for a fellow just admitted to the bar to have a little jug around at his office before court adjourns—­just to comply with a professional custom, you know.  No trouble about it—­not in the least.  I’ll see you through.”

“I am clear in my own mind that I don’t know much about the law,” said Franklin, “and I should not think of going up for examination if that ended my studies in the profession.  If I were intending to go into practice here, sir, or near by, I should not think of applying for admission for at least another year.  But the fact is, I’m thinking of going away.”

“Goin’ away?” Judge Bradley straightened up, and his expression if anything was one of relief.  He had had his own misgivings about this grave-faced and mature young man should he go into the practice at the Bloomsbury bar.  It was well enough to encourage such possibilities to take their test in some other locality.  Judge Bradley therefore became more cheerful.  “Goin’ away, eh?” he said.  “Where to?”

“Out West,” said Franklin, unconsciously repeating the phrase which was then upon the lips of all the young men of the country.

“Out West, eh?” said the judge, with still greater cheerfulness.  “That’s right, that’s right.  That’s the place to go to, where you can get a better chance.  I came West in my day myself, though it isn’t West now; an’ that’s how I got my start.  There’s ten chances out there to where there’s one here, an’ you’ll get better pay for what you do.  I’d advise it, sir—­I’d advise it; yes, indeed.”

“I think it will be better,” said Franklin calmly.

“Hate to lose you,” said the judge, politely—­“hate to lose you, of course, but then a young man’s got to make his way; he’s got to get his start.”

Franklin sat silent for a few moments, musingly staring out of the window, and listening, without active consciousness of the fact, to the music of the singing bird which came from somewhere without.  At length he rose and turned toward the elder man.