“What?”
“Can’t you contrive to make it appear that the man is non compos mentis. Then we lawyers could come in and get some one appointed to administer the estate—I mean a judge would do that.”
“My dear Hampton, I came to you for good advice, and you talk trash to me.”
“I’ve told you—trash or not—the only way of getting out of the difficulty, and I can do no more,” said the lawyer pettishly. “There, Lawrence, old fellow, we will not quarrel over this unfortunate affair. We can do nothing but look on and advise. George Harrington will tell us to go to Jericho if we say a word; and as to the lady, when a good, pure-minded young girl takes it into her head that it is her duty to do something or another, the more you preach at her, and try to get her to think as you do, the more she looks upon you as a worldly-minded old sinner, and persists in going her own gait. I can only see one thing to do.”
“Yes? What is it?” cried the doctor.
“Ram a lot of legal jargon into the scoundrel, and frighten him into making ample settlements on the poor girl, tying it down so that he can’t touch it, nor she neither, except as payments fall due. Then she’ll be safe when he dies of delirium tremens, or gets killed in some drunken brawl.”
“You think you can manage that, Hampton?” cried the doctor eagerly.
“Yes, I fancy I can contrive that, but if he proves to be obstinate, you must help me.”
“In any way I can.”
“That’s right. Well, then, you’ll have to bring him nearly to death’s door.”