"Good morning, gentlemen; sit down."
Mr. Talbot declined. He had simply brought to him his friend, General Belcher, who, he believed, had a matter of business to propose. Then, telling Mr. Belcher that he should leave the coupé at his service, he retired.
Mr. Belcher felt that he was already in court. Mr. Cavendish sat behind his desk in a judicial attitude, with his new client fronting him. The latter fell, or tried to force himself, into a jocular mood and bearing, according to his custom on serious occasions.
"I am likely to have a little scrimmage," said he, "and I shall want your help, Mr. Cavendish."
Saying this, he drew forth a check for a thousand dollars, which he had drawn in the ante-room, and passed it over to the lawyer. Mr. Cavendish took it up listlessly, held it by its two ends, read its face, examined its back, and tossed it into a drawer, as if it were a suspicious sixpence.
"It's a thousand dollars," said Mr. Belcher, surprised that the sum had apparently made no impression.
"I see—a retainer—thanks!"
All the time the hawk-eyes were looking into Mr. Belcher. All the time the scalp was moving backward and forward, as if he had just procured a new one, that might be filled up before night, but for the moment was a trifle large. All the time there was a subtle scorn upon the lips, the flavor of which the finely curved nose apprehended with approval.
"What's the case, General?"
The General drew from his pocket his forged assignment, and passed it into the hand of Mr. Cavendish.