"But I must tell you of my visit to Judge Johnson. You will remember my telling you of him; he was Wade Powell's chum in the law school in Cincinnati, and Mr. Powell had given me a letter to him. I had a hard time seeing him; the hardest of all. When I went into the big stone government building he was holding court, and a lawyer was making an argument before him. I waited till they were all done, and then when the crier had adjourned court--he said 'Oyez, Oyez, Oyez,' instead of the 'Hear ye, hear ye, hear ye' we have in Ohio; it sounded so old and quaint, even if he did say 'Oh yes,' for 'Oyez!' It comes from the old Norman-French, you know; ask your father about it, he'll explain it--I tried to get in to him. I succeeded at last, but it was hard work. He didn't seem glad to see me; he looked at me coldly, and made me feel as if I ought to hurry up and state my business promptly and get away. When I gave him Wade Powell's letter he put on his gold glasses and read it; but--what do you think?--I don't believe he remembered Wade Powell at all! At least he seemed not to. Of course he may have been putting it on. Wouldn't it make Wade Powell mad to know that? I'd give a dollar--and I haven't any to spare either--to see him when he hears that his old friend, Judge Johnson of the United States Circuit Court, couldn't remember him! Well, the judge didn't let me detain him long, he looked at his watch a moment, and then he advised me not to try it in Chicago; he said there were too many lawyers here anyhow, and that he thought a young man made a mistake in coming to a city at all.
"'Why don't you stay in a small town?' he asked, looking at me sternly over his glasses. 'Living is cheaper there, and life is much more simple than it is in the cities. I've often wished I had stayed in a little town.'
"I came away, as you can imagine, feeling pretty much cast down and humbled in spirit. There are four thousand lawyers in Chicago; just think of it, almost as many lawyers as there are people in Macochee! As I walked through the crowded streets with men and women rushing along, I wondered how they all lived. What do they do? Where are they all going, and how do they get a place to stand on? As I came across the bridge over to the North Side I felt that there was no place for me here in this great, dirty, ugly city, just as there is no place for me back in peaceful Macochee, where every minute of the day I long to be. Anyway, I am sure that there is no place for me here in the law, and I shall have to look for something else. I see so much wretchedness and poverty and squalor; it is in the street everywhere--pale, gaunt men, who look at you out of sick, appealing eyes.