"Yours, JAMES BALFOUR,
"Counselor-at-Law."
"Hum! ha!" exclaimed Mr. Belcher, compressing his lips, and spitefully tearing the letter into small strips and throwing them into the fire. "Thank you, kind sir; I owe you one," said he, rising, and walking his room. "That doesn't look very much as if Paul Benedict were alive. He's a counselor-at-law, he is; and he has inveigled a boy into his keeping, who, he supposes, has a claim on me; and he proposes to make some money out of it. Sharp game!"
Mr. Belcher was interrupted in his reflections and his soliloquy by the entrance of a servant, with the information that there was a man at the door who wished to see him.
"Show him up."
The servant hesitated, and finally said: "He doesn't smell very well, sir."
"What does he smell of?" inquired Mr. Belcher, laughing.
"Rum, sir, and several things."
"Send him away, then."
"I tried to, sir, but he says he knows you, and wants to see you on particular business."