On one side of the room were rows of shelves containing a number of law-books, the relative ages of which were marked by the colour of the leather binding—there being a perfect ascending scale, from the bright buff, indicating the most recent purchase, to the deepest, dirtiest brown that characterised the long-standing and well-thumbed volume of remote date. Along the edges of these shelves were nailed long slips of dark-green serge—a meagre kind of drapery meant to protect the upper part of the volumes from the dust, and impart to the whole arrangement somewhat of the air of a regular book-case.
On another side of the room were rows of shelves much deeper and also much wider apart; and on these were huge japanned tin boxes, with names painted on them in yellow letters. To every box there was a little padlock; and the whole seemed to tell of title-deeds to vast estates—and mortgages—and bonds—and charges—and rent-rolls, contained in those sombre-looking repositories. But, alas! how few of the persons whose names were still recorded on the outside of those boxes, had any longer an interest in the deeds preserved within: how many had lodged their parchments in those usurious chests, never to recover them!
Over the mantel-piece was a portrait of Lord Eldon—a lawyer whom thousands and thousands were doomed to curse, but whom the “profession” still continues to cry up as the greatest of modern judges. Yes—for if clients complain of the law’s delays, the lawyers themselves rejoice; and he who is an execrable judge in respect to the former, is an admirable one in the eyes of the latter.
Stuck into the frame of that portrait was an infinite number of visitors’ cards, all covered with dust, as if that assemblage of bits of pasteboard were something sacred which the profane hand of a housemaid or charwoman dared not touch. On the mantel itself was an old time-piece, the mechanism of which was exposed; and how the wheels could move at all, clogged with dust as they were, must have appeared marvellous to any one who, entering that room, gave himself the trouble to devote a thought to the matter.
We have already stated that the table was covered with papers. Along that side opposite to the one at which the lawyer sate, were piles of those documents, all tied up in the usual fashion with tape that once was red, but which was now so faded that in many instances it was of a dirty white. They seemed to have been undisturbed for a long, long time; and perhaps were kept for show. Those papers that referred to matters actually pending, were placed more conveniently within the attorney’s reach, and were fresher in appearance, the tape also being of a livelier red. Three or four files, two feet long, and covered with letters densely packed one above another, lay upon the drugget; and near the lawyer’s feet was a waste-basket overflowing with letters crumpled up, and looking uncommonly like appeals for mercy and delay on the part of unfortunate debtors, but which had been tossed with cool contempt into that receptacle for all such useless applications!
It was now ten o’clock in the morning; and Mr. James Heathcote was, as we have represented, completely absorbed in the study of the documents that lay spread before him upon the table. A thin, yellow hand supported his head; and every now and then he ran his long fingers through his iron-grey hair, as if that action aided him in the solution of a difficult subject.
Presently a low and timid knock at the door fell on the lawyer’s ears; and he said “Come in” without raising his head or desisting from his occupation.
Thereupon a middle-aged man, dressed in a suit of rusty black—his office garb—made his appearance, holding in his hand a long thin book which was the diary of the business-proceedings of the establishment. This individual had a pale, sinister countenance, with brown hair combed sleekly down over his low forehead. He was, however, an important personage in many respects—being Mr. Heathcote’s head clerk, and exercising despotic sway over half-a-dozen subordinates in the front office. With them and towards poor clients or unfortunate debtors he was cold—stern—harsh—and inexorable; but in the presence of his employer he was cringing—mean—sycophantic—and spaniel-like.
Advancing slowly and with noiseless steps—or rather creeping up towards the table, he stood in a respectful attitude—no, with a servile demeanour and in deep silence until it should please his master to take notice of him.
“Well, Green—what have you to say to me this morning?” at length demanded Mr. Heathcote, raising his head and throwing himself back in his capacious arm-chair.