He extinguishes my hopes
and his.'"
With this, Mr. Randel, by a singular fanning of his hands and waft of
his breath, put out all the candles at once and left the whole room in
darkness.
Judge Custis was the first to speak after this extraordinary
illustration:
"Clayton, I believe he has a good case."
"That is not the point now," Mr. Clayton said, with rising spirit and
emphasis. "The point now is, 'Am I guilty of inhospitality?' Goy! that
touches me as a Delawarean, and is a high offence in this little state.
It is true that this suitor is a stranger. He comes to me with an
introduction from my brilliant young friend, Mr. Seward, of New York,
who vouches for him. But the corporation he menaces is also entitled to
hospitality: it is, in the main, Philadelphia capital. Girard himself,
that frugal yet useful citizen, is one of its promoters. My own state,
and Maryland, too, have interests in this work. Is it the part of
hospitality to be taking advantage of our small interposing geography,
and laying by the heels, through our local courts, a young, struggling,
and, indeed, national undertaking?"
"Let the courts of your state, which are pure, decide between us," said
John Randel, Junior, relighting the candles with his tinder-box.
"No lawyer ought to refuse the trial of such a public cause because of
any state scruples," Judge Custis put in, in his grandest way. "That is
not national; it is not Whig, Brother Clayton.
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