Harwood was busy filing papers when Mr. Fitch summoned him to his
private room on the day indicated. Fitch was short, thin, and bald, with
a clipped reddish beard, brown eyes, and a turn-up nose. He was
considered a better lawyer than Wright, who was the orator of the firm,
and its reliance in dealing with juries. In the preparation of briefs
and in oral arguments before the Supreme Court, Fitch was the superior.
His personal peculiarities had greatly Interested Harwood; as, for
example, Fitch's manner of locking himself in his room for days at a
time while he was preparing to write a brief, denying himself to all
visitors, and only occasionally calling for books from the library.
Then, when he had formulated his ideas, he summoned the stenographer and
dictated at one sitting a brief that generally proved to be the
reviewing court's own judgment of the case in hand. Some of Fitch's
fellow practitioners intimated at times that he was tricky. In
conferences with opposing counsel, one heard, he required watching, as
he was wary of committing himself and it was difficult to discover what
line of reasoning he elected to oppose or defend. In such conferences it
was his fashion to begin any statement that might seem even remotely to
bind him with the remark, "I'm just thinking aloud on that proposition
and don't want to be bound by what I say." The students in the office,
to whom he was unfailingly courteous, apostrophized him as "the fox." He
called them all "Mister," and occasionally flattered them by presenting
a hypothetical case for their consideration.

Fitch was sitting before the immaculate desk he affected (no one ever
dared leave anything on it in his absence) when Harwood entered. The
lawyer's chair was an enormous piece of furniture in which his small
figure seemed to shrink and hide. His hands were thrust into his
pockets, as they usually were, and he piped out "Good-Morning" in a high