COUNSEL'S OPINION.
"Everything comes to those who know how to wait." What an excellent proverb for a briefless barrister! Let Mr. Briefless sit in his chambers, surrounded by his law books crammed with learning, and ready to undertake anything--if he wait, will Fame come to him? Not she. Fame is a lazy goddess except when she flies away, and then it is difficult for even the most industrious to catch her and clip her wings.
"He who would seek the wealth of the Indies must take out the wealth of the Indies." Is not that saying a true one? In order to gain fame, riches, and ease, must not one bring industry, perseverance, and knowledge? If Mr. Gerald Foster, barrister, of the Inner Temple, had adopted the motto of knowing how to wait, he might have done so till the end of the chapter, and then have been no better off at the end than the beginning.
But Mr. Foster was not of this fatalistic creed; he did not believe that what must be must, and that if a man is to be famous he will be so whether he idles at home or goes out into the world and works. No; he saw clearly that every day the prizes were fewer and the multitude of competitors greater, and so he did not rest idly on his oars after being admitted to the bar, but went in for hard study, both of men and books. Books, as he knew, are all very well, but according to Pope, the proper study of mankind is man, and Gerald went out into the world and neglected no opportunity of getting fish into his net. He went into the theatrical world, and knew all the most famous actors and actresses in London; he went into the political world, and had all the burning questions of the day at the end of his tongue; he noted the rising and falling of shares on the Stock Exchange, and knew exactly how the money market stood, and he went into society and became acquainted with the follies of the hour.
All this work was for a purpose, for he was a young gentleman who never lost an opportunity, and his sprats were all sent forth to catch mackerel. As yet, in spite of his assiduity to work, and his cultivation of the follies and virtues of his fellow-men, he had succeeded but little, but then he was only twenty-eight years of age, and fortune is not a goddess to be wooed roughly, so he went on, keeping his brain cool, his eyes open, and his mind cultivated, and had no doubt in his own mind that he would succeed. With such indomitable perseverance Gerald knew he must win at last. Fortune, fickle though she he, becomes weary of incessant assaults, and yields in the end to the persevering suitor. So Mr. Gerald Foster, aged twenty-eight, with clever brains, good health, and plenty of tact, worked assiduously at his profession, waiting for the hour that would bring him fame and riches.
Not a handsome man, certainly not; that is, he was not an oiled and curled darling of society. He dressed well, because it was part of his business; but even his kindest friend could not hove pronounced him handsome. A bald head, with a thick fringe of brown hair round it, a prominent nose, a clean-shaven face, with a thin-lipped mouth, and two brilliantly black eyes under bushy eyebrows, he would have been ugly, but for the wonderful charm of his smile. A most delightful smile, that changed all his features, and turned him from the ugly beast into the handsome young prince of the fairy tale. And, above all, his face was one that inspired confidence--an invaluable quality in a lawyer.
On the morning after the arrival of the "Neptune," he sat in his office in the Temple looking over his letters. Accurately dressed, in frock coat, black trousers and tie, and spotless linen, he was turning over his letters, when he came on that of Ronald's, and something in the handwriting of Mr. Monteith senior, seemed to strike him, for he opened it first. Reading it over carefully, he gave vent to a low whistle of astonishment.
"Hum," said Mr. Foster' surveying the letter thoughtfully, "'friend of your father's--only son--first visit to England--would like you to look after him--exactly,'"--laying down the letter--"a cub I expect, with no looks, and less manners, brought up in the wilds, and can't eat his food properly--a delightful aboriginal to introduce into London society. Well, I suppose I must. I love my dear old father too well to think of refusing to do a good turn to any friend of his. Confound it! I'm sure this son is awful. Well, perhaps he'll be rich, and that will cover a multitude of sins. We are fond of whited sepulchres now-a-days."
He put the letter of introduction on one side, and proceeded with the rest of his correspondence, carefully answering each letter, and putting it neatly away. Then he rang for his clerk, and giving him a pile of letters, told him to post them, and taking up the "Daily Telegraph," proceeded to read that paper and wait for clients. Of course, he went first for the money market; then he looked over the political news, glanced at the law reports, and read all the leaders, ending with the theatres. These principal items being finished, he glanced idly over the paper, and at last came on something that interested him.
"Hum," said Mr. Foster, thoughtfully, "a murder committed on board the 'Neptune.' That is the boat the cub came home in. Think I'll read it, that I may have something to talk about when he does come."