“Mr Tomplin, gentlemen,” she said. “He’s at the door, and I was to say that if it was inconvenient for you to see him to-night, perhaps you would call at his office when you were down the town.”
“Oh, ask him in, Mrs Stephenson,” cried Uncle Dick; and as she left the room—“it’s the solicitor to whom I brought the letter of introduction from the bank.”
It was a short dark man in black coat and waistcoat and pepper-and-salt trousers who was shown in. He had little sharp eyes that seemed to glitter. So did his hair, which was of light-grey, and stood up all over his head as if it was on white fire. He had not a particle of hair on his face, which looked as if he was a very good customer to the barber.
He shook hands very heartily with all of us, nodding pleasantly the while; and when he sat down he took out a brown-and-yellow silk handkerchief and blew his nose like a horn.
“Welcome to Yorkshire, gentlemen!” he said. “My old friends at the bank send me a very warm letter of recommendation about you, and I’m at your service. Professional consultations at the usual fee, six and eight or thirteen and four, according to length. Friendly consultations—Thank you, I’m much obliged. This is a friendly consultation. Now what can I do for you?”
He looked round at us all, and I felt favourably impressed. So did my uncles, as Uncle Dick answered for all.
“Nothing at present, sir. By and by we shall be glad to come to you for legal and friendly advice too.”
“That’s right,” said Mr Tomplin. “You’ve taken the Rivulet Works, I hear.”
“Yes, down there by the stream.”
“What are you going to do?—carry on the old forging and grinding?”