Read Online Slow Sculpture by Theodore Sturgeon - Free Book Online

all very well, but how to say it to the kind old man, himself obviously a manual worker all his life? O’Banion was not a cruel man, and he was well aware that coarse origins did not always mean dull sensibilities. Actually, some of these people were very sensitive. So he made a genuinely noble try at simultaneous truth and kindness: “I’ve always felt it’s wiser to form relationships like that with—uh—people of one’s own kind.”
    “You mean, people with as much money as you got?”
    “No!” O’Banion was genuinely shocked. “That’s no longer a standard to go by, and it probably never was, not by itself.” He laughed ruefully and added, “Besides, there hasn’t been any money in my family since I can remember. Not since 1929.”
    “Then what’s your kind of people?”
    How? How? “It’s … a way of life,” he said at length. That pleased him. “A way of life,” he repeated, and took a drink. He hoped Sam wouldn’t pursue the subject any further. Why examine something when you’re content with it the way it is?
    “Why are you here anyway, boy?” Sam asked. “I mean, in this town instead of in the city, or New York or some place?”
    “I’m good for a junior partnership in another year or so. Then I can transfer as a junior partner to a big firm. If I’d gone straight to the city it would take me twice as long to get up there.”
    Sam nodded. “Pretty cute. Why the law? I always figured lawyer’s work was pretty tough and pretty dusty for a young man.”
    His Mother had said, “Of course the law field’s being invaded by all sorts of riffraff now—but what isn’t? However, it’s still possible for a gentleman to do a gentleman’s part in law.” Well, that wouldn’t do. He’d have to go deeper. He averted his eyes from old Sam’s casual penetration and said, “Tough, yes. But there’s something about law work …” He wondered if the old man would follow this. “Look, Sam, did it ever occur to you that the law is thebiggest thing ever built? It’s bigger’n bridges, bigger’n buildings because they’re all built
on
it. A lawyer’s a part of the law, and the law is part of everything else—everything we own, the way we run governments, everything we make and carry and use. Ever think of that?”
    “Can’t say I did,” said Sam. “Tell me something—the law, is it finished?”
    “Finished?”
    “What I mean, this rock everything’s built on, how solid is it? Is it going to change much? Didn’t it change a whole lot to get the way it is?”
    “Well, sure! Everything changes a lot while it’s growing up.”
    “Ah. It’s grown up.”
    “Don’t you think it has?” O’Banion asked with sudden truculence.
    Sam grinned easily. “Shucks, boy, I don’t think. I just ask questions. You were saying about ‘your sort of people’: you think you-all
belong
in the law?”
    “Yes!” said O’Banion, and saw immediately that Sam would not be satisfied with so little. “We do in this sense,” he said earnestly. “All through the ages men have worked and built and—and owned. And among them there rose a few who were born and bred and trained to—to—” He took another drink, but it and the preceding liquor seemed not to be helping him. He wanted to say
to rule
and he wanted to say
to own
, but he had wit enough about him to recognize that Sam would misunderstand. So he tried again. “Born and bred to—live that—uh—way of life I mentioned before. It’s to the interest of those few people to invest their lives in things as they are, to keep them that way; in other words, to work for and uphold the law.” He leaned back with a flourish that somehow wasn’t as eloquent as he had hoped and very nearly upset his glass to boot.
    “Don’t the law contradict itself once in a while?”
    “Naturally!” O’Banion’s crystallizing concept of the nobility of his work was beginning to intoxicate him more than anything else. “But the very nature of our