Clancy looked at his feet for a moment.
“’Tis me spoine——” he began.
Then he stopped and smiled.
“’Tis for you to know, Sorr,” he added, sadly.
I didn’t laugh, for I saw tears in Clancy’s childlike eyes.
But I discontinued that action, and my affidavits now read with unprofessional clarity.
HIS HONOUR.[A]
Van was out of temper. Van, the calm squelcher of office boys—the recognised saviour of managing clerks—the patient instructor of sophomoric attorneys—the courteous Guide, Philosopher and Friend for all busy members of the New York Bar—Van, whose serenity and sanity had withstood some thirty years of service as Chambers Clerk, was in ill humour.