Revolution by Edward Cline Page A

reasons, sir. First, six men, including myself, sit on this county’s court. Now, the other five, although otherwise upstanding and well-meaning men, are not persons of sound legal knowledge or fairness of judgment. I have guided them in the administration of justice for close to twenty years. Please excuse my vanity, but I fear that if I resigned that task to represent the county in the Assembly, for I must quit one bench to claim another, no one could replace me, and our court here would undoubtedly fall into miserable confusion.”
    Hugh sighed in concession of this truth. Reece Vishonn was one of those justices and the next senior, but he, too, required Reisdale’s direction and knowledge. The other justices were smaller freeholders who had studied law but had never practiced it or made it a profession, except in Caxton’s diminutive courthouse. He grimaced in irony and related his conversation with Jack Frake from the day before, and wondered out loud who in Queen Anne County could oppose Cullis in the next election. He remarked, “I do not relish the prospect of sharing a seat with him.”
    Reisdale did not immediately reply to his guest’s plaintive musing. “Besides,” he said at length, “I am too well associated now with you and Mr. Frake and the Sons.” He paused. “Now, sir, you must have observed,” he continued in a more serious tone, “that this county is more patriotic than it might appear. My election, should I relent and stand for burgess,would in no sense be guaranteed, no matter how disliked or mistrusted Mr. Cullis might be — and I agree with you that he is one or the other among the freemen here. For the nonce, my good man, you and he, so far as the county’s electorate are concerned, comprise a safe, perfect, representational
balance
in the Assembly. I am certain they would want to continue that balance. Lacking another candidate of Mr. Cullis’s character, they would, I am afraid, merely reelect him.”
    Hugh’s eyebrows went up. “I did not know that my own character was so feared.”
    Reisdale frowned. “Not at all, sir. You and Mr. Cullis act as curatives on each other, in the electoral eye. Mr. Cullis is more congenial and accommodating, while you are a…model of principle.” The attorney stopped speaking then, because he suddenly realized that his guest was a key to the best way to compose his address and inquiry, and also an obstacle to it. There was something ingenuous about the young man that was also fundamentally right. His whole character and person exuded that odd quality. This posed a paradox to Reisdale, for his guest’s person and character were both attractive and repellent, at the same time.
    HIs other neighbor, Jack Frake, presented the same paradox, but in more severe terms. He thought of the frank gray eyes, and the scar on that man’s forehead, and then remembered that this man, too, was his friend.
    The subject of Reisdale’s candidacy being exhausted, Hugh and his host chatted for a while about their properties. Hugh spoke about the progress his tenants were making in topping his tobacco. “My wheat, corn, and oats are about ready for harvesting. I am almost glad that the Governor has prorogued the Assembly this fall. My crops will exceed last year’s gross.”
    When his guest departed, Thomas Reisdale turned back to his labors, but soon gave up the effort. Hugh Kenrick had gone, but somehow an aura of him remained in the room. Reisdale glanced over the words in his draft, and judged his prose to be not only inadequate, but abhorrent, given its purpose. It read like the bluff words of a coward. The absolutes he wished to communicate did not wear well the garb of abnegation. This thought caused the attorney to blush in anger, anger with himself and with the conundrum. Abruptly, he felt the throbbing of a tremendous headache. He rose and retired to his bedchamber to take a nap.
    When he had made himself comfortable, he listened to the rain. It helped him