‘It might be better,’ he said, with an expression which seemed odd beside the simplicity of the words.
‘Ah! you think then to urge me to make money; and for the sake of my dead ancestors increase the inheritance of those that may come after me? But I believe I am already as diligent as is good for me—that is, in the main, for I have been losing time of late.’
‘I meant no such thing, Mr Cumbermede. I should be very doubtful whether any amount of success in literature would enable you to restore the fortunes of your family.’
‘Were they so very ponderous, do you think? But in truth I have little ambition of that sort. All I will readily confess to is a strong desire not to shirk what work falls to my share in the world.’
‘Yes,’ he said, in a thoughtful manner—‘if one only knew what his share of the work was.’
The remark was unexpected, and I began to feel a little more interest in him.
‘Hadn’t you better take a copy of that entry?’ he said.
‘Yes—perhaps I had. But I have no materials.’
It did not strike me that attorneys do not usually, like excise-men, carry about an ink-bottle, when he drew one from the breast-pocket of his coat, along with a folded sheet of writing-paper, which he opened and spread out on the desk. I took the pen he offered me, and copied the entry.
When I had finished, he said—