Miles brought up one hand. “Look, I’m not saying…”
“Can you honestly sit there. Miles, and tell me that you are satisfied with the direction that the practice of law in this country is taking? Can you even tell me that it is as good and true as it was fifteen years ago when we entered the profession? Look at what’s happened, for Christ’s sake! We are bogged down in a morass of legislation and regulation that reaches from here to China, and even the judges and lawyers don’t understand half of it. We used to be able to call ourselves general practitioners — now we are lucky to be competent in one or two fields, simply because of the updating we must constantly do in order to keep ourselves current. The courts are slow and overburdened. The judges are all too often mediocre lawyers put on the bench through politics. The lawyers coming out of law school view their occupation as a way to make big bucks and get their names in the paper — forget the part about helping people. The whole profession has the worst press this side of Nazi Germany. We have advertising — advertising! Like used-car salesmen, or furniture-store dealers! We don’t adequately educate ourselves. We don’t adequately police ourselves. We just go through the motions and try to get by!”
Miles stared at him, his head cocked appraisingly. “Are you about finished?”
He nodded, slightly flushed. “Yeah, I suppose so. Did I leave anything out?”
Miles shook his head. “I think you covered the whole nine yards. Feel any better?”
“Much, thanks.”
“Good. One final comment, then. I heard everything you said, I duly recorded every word, and I happen to agree with most of it. And I say to you nevertheless, so what? There have been thousands of speeches given, thousands of committee meetings held, thousands of articles written addressing the very problems you so eloquently outline in your tirade — and how much difference has any of it made?”
Ben sighed. “Not much.”
“That is understating it. Since this is so, what difference do you think you are going to make?”
“I don’t know. But that’s not the point.”
“No, I don’t suppose it is for you. So, what the hell? If you want to enter into a one-man war with the system in an effort to change it, fine and dandy. But a little moderation in your commitment wouldn’t hurt. A day off now and then for some of life’s less pressing matters might give you some perspective and keep you from burning out completely. Okay?”
Ben nodded. “Okay. Yeah, okay. But I’m not good at moderation.”
Miles grinned. “Tell me about it. Now let’s talk about something else. Let’s talk about last night. Believe it or not, a few people asked about you at the bar meeting — said they missed seeing you.”
“They must be desperate for companionship, then.”
Miles shrugged. “Maybe. What was so important that you had to cancel out? New case?”
Ben thought about it a moment, then shook his head. “No, nothing new. Just something I wanted to follow up on.” He hesitated. Then impulsively he reached down into his briefcase and pulled out the Wishbook. “Miles, want to see something really odd? Take a look at this.”
He thumbed the catalogue open to the item about Landover and passed it across the desk. His friend shifted forward to take it from him and then settled back again in the chair.
“Magic kingdom for sale… Landover-island of enchantment and adventure…Hey, what is this?” Miles fumbled to find the cover.
“It’s a Christmas catalogue,” Ben explained to the big man quickly. “From Rosen’s, Ltd. out of New York. A Wishbook. You’ve seen the type — full of one of a kind gifts.”
Miles started reading again, finished, and looked up. “Only a million dollars, huh? What a bargain! Let’s fly right to New York and apply — beat the rush.”
“What do you make of it?”
Miles stared at him. “Same as you, I hope. Someone is nuts!”
He nodded slowly. “That’s what I thought, too. But Rosen’s wouldn’t put an advertisement in a catalogue like this if they couldn’t produce.”