“I declare, after all,” said Pemberton, “if he feels equal to the hard work of the Court, and likes it, I don't see why all this pressure should be put upon him. Do you?”
“I am the last man probably to see it,” said Sewell, with an easy laugh. “His abdication would, of course, not suit me, I suppose we had better stroll back into the house,—they 'll miss us.” There was an evident coldness in the way these last words were spoken, and Sewell meant that the lawyer should see his irritation.
“Have you ever said anything to Balfour about what we have been talking of?” said Pemberton, as they moved towards the house.
“I may or I may not. I talk pretty freely on all sorts of things—and, unfortunately, with an incaution, too, that is not always profitable.”
“Because if you were to show him as clearly as awhile ago you showed me, the mode in which this matter might be negotiated, I have little doubt—that is, I have reason to suppose—or I might go farther and say that I know—”
“I 'll tell you what I know, Mr. Solicitor, that I would n't give that end of a cigar,” and he pitched it from him as he spoke, “to decide the question either way.” And with this they passed on and mingled with the company in the drawing-room. “I have hooked you at last, my shrewd friend; and if I know anything of mankind, I 'll see you, or hear from you, before twelve hours are over.”
“Where have you been, Colonel, with my friend the Solicitor-General?” said the Chief Baron.
“Cabinet-making, my Lord,” said Sewell, laughingly.
“Take care, sir,” said the Chief, sternly,—“take care of that pastime. It has led more than one man to become a Joiner and a Turner!” And a buzz went through the room as men repeated this mot, and people asked each other, “Is this the man we are calling on to retire as worn-out, effete, and exhausted?”