"Sir," said he, "you know those Emmets that you have done so much for?"
I remembered.
"Well, sir, they've taken a brief to another counsel."
It was a serious misfortune, no doubt, and I had to soothe him in the best manner I could; so to lessen the calamity I made the best joke I could think of in the circumstances, and said the Emmets were small people, almost beneath notice.
I don't wonder that he did not see it with tears in his eyes; his distress was painful to witness. The poor fellow was dumbfounded, but at last shook his head, saying,—
"We've had a good deal from those Emmets, sir."
"But you need not make mountains out of ant-hills."
He did not see that either.
I was now living in Bond Street, and for the first time in my life was taken seriously ill. My clerk's worry then came home to me; not about a single brief, but about a great many. Illness would be a very serious matter, as I had arrived at an important stage in my career. A barrister in full practice cannot afford to be ill. In my distress I sent to Baron Martin, as I was in every case in his list for the following day, and begged him to oblige me by adjourning his court. It was a large request, but I knew his kindness, and felt I might ask the favour. Baron Martin, I should think, never in his life did an unkind act or refused to do a kind one. He instantly complied with my request, and did not listen for a moment to the "public interest," as the foolish fetish is called which sometimes does duty for its neglect. The "public interest" on this occasion was the interests of all those who had entrusted their business to my keeping. The public interests are the interests of the suitors.
My illness threatened to be fatal. I had been overworked; and nothing but the greatest care and skill brought me round. One never knows what friendship is and what friends are till one is ill.