CHAPTER XI. THE CLERK OF THE COURT KEEPS A PROMISE
“Well, what is it, M’sieu’ Fille? What do you want with me? I’ve got a lot to do before sundown, and it isn’t far off. Out with it.”
George Masson was in no good humour; from the look on the face of the little Clerk of the Court he had no idea that he would disclose any good news. It was probably some stupid business about “money not being paid into the Court,” which had been left over from cases tried and lost; and he had had a number of cases that summer. His head was not so clear to-day as usual, but he had had little difficulties with M’sieu’ Fille before, and he was sure that there was something wrong now.
“Do you want to make me a present?” he added with humorous impatience, for though he was not in a good temper, he liked the Clerk of the Court, who was such a figure at Vilray.
The opening for his purpose did not escape M. Fille. He had been at a loss to begin, but here was a natural opportunity for him.
“Well, good advice is not always a present, but I should like mine to be taken as such, monsieur,” he said a little oracularly.
“Oh, advice—to give me advice—that’s why you’ve brought me in here, when I’ve so much to do I can’t breathe! Time is money with me, old ‘un.”
“Mine is advice which may be money in your pocket, monsieur,” remarked the Clerk of the Court with meaning. “Money saved is money earned.”
“How do you mean to save me money—by getting the Judge to give decisions in my favour? That would be money in my pocket for sure. The Court has been running against my interests this year. When I think I was never so right in my life—bang goes the judgment of the Court against me, and into my pocket goes my hand. I don’t only need to save money, I need to make it; so if you can help me in that way I’m your man, M’sieu’ la Fillette?”
The little man bristled at the misuse of his name, and he flushed slightly also; but there was always something engaging in the pleasure-loving master-carpenter. He had such an eloquent and warm temperament, the atmosphere of his personality was so genial, that his impertinence was insulated. Certainly the master-carpenter was not unpopular, and people could not easily resist the grip of his physical influence, while mentally he was far indeed from being deficient. He looked as little like a villain as a man could, and yet—and yet—a nature like that of George Masson (even the little Clerk could see that) was not capable of being true beyond the minute in which he took his oath of fidelity. While the fit of willingness was on him he would be true; yet in reality there was no truth at all—only self-indulgence unmarked by duty or honour.