“Eh? No? But you must, my lad. You’re no fool, you know, and you’ve got to be a clever lawyer before you’ve done.”
Tom felt disposed to quote his other uncle’s words as to his folly, but he choked down the inclination.
“There, I won’t hinder you, my lad,” continued the visitor. “I know what you busy London people are, and how we slow-going country folk get in your way. I only want to look at a Directory,—you have one I know.”
“Yes, sir, in the other office. I’ll fetch it.”
The quiet, grey-haired, grave-looking visitor gave a nod as if of acquiescence, and Tom ran into the inner office, where he found that Pringle must have heard every word, for he was holding out the London Directory all ready.
“He must hear everything too when uncle goes on at me,” thought Tom, as he took the Directory and returned Pringle’s friendly nod.
“Tell him he ought to give you a tip.”
Tom frowned, shook his head, and hurried back with the great red book.
“Hah, that’s right, my boy,” said the visitor. “There, I don’t want to bother about taking off my gloves and putting on my spectacles. Turn to the trades, and see if there are any lens-makers down.”
“Yes, sir, several,” said Tom, after a short search.