He took his letter to Distane that afternoon. Small towns change little, and the attorney's office was upstairs over a department store, as his great-grandfather's probably had been.
Distane, a white-haired man with a leonine cast to his jaw, listened with fingertips together for a few moments, until the details of Lao's troubles began to unfold.
"Just a moment, Voter," he said. "What did you say your name is?"
"Lao Protik," answered Lao, somewhat nettled.
Moistening his index finger, Distane shuffled through some papers on his desk, peering at them with intense concentration. At last his face lit.
"Ah, Voter Protik," he said, settling back in his chair. "We have a new partner in our firm ... an experienced attorney, you understand, but new to our firm. I think Voter Attok is the man who should handle your case."
Getting to his feet with a grunt, Distane led Lao into an adjoining room which gave evidence of having been newly furnished not long before. An urbane-looking man of middle age sat behind the desk, twiddling a letter opener idly.
"This," said Distane heavily, "is Lao Protik, Voter Attok."
Distane left, shutting the door behind him. Lao stared at Attok. Attok raised his eyebrows quizzically.