The family was not alone that morning. A certain Michael Millington was a guest of Jack’s, and seemingly quite at home in the little circle. The business of eating and drinking was pretty well through with, though each of the four cups had its remains of tea or coffee, and Sarah sat stirring hers idly, while her soft eyes were turned with interest on the countenances of the two young men. The last had a sheet of writing-paper lying between them, and their heads were close together, as both studied that which was written on it in pencil. As for Mr. Dunscomb, himself, he was fairly surrounded by documents of one sort and another. Two or three of the morning papers, glanced at but not read, lay opened on the floor; on each side of his plate was a brief, or some lease or release; while a copy of the new and much talked of code was in his hand. As we say in our American English, Mr. Dunscomb was ‘emphatically’ a common-law lawyer; and, as our transatlantic brethren would remark in their sometime cockney dialect, he was not at all ‘agreeable’ to this great innovation on ‘the perfection of human reason.’ He muttered occasionally as he read, and now and then he laid down the book, and seemed to muse. All this, however, was quite lost on Sarah, whose soft blue eyes still rested on the interested countenances of the two young men. At length Jack seized the paper, and wrote a line or two hurriedly, with his pencil.
“There, Mike,” he said, in a tone of self-gratulation, “I think that will do!”
“It has one merit of a good toast,” answered the friend, a little doubtingly; “it is sententious.”
“As all toasts ought to be. If we are to have this dinner, and the speeches, and all the usual publications afterwards, I choose that we should appear with some little credit. Pray, sir,” raising his eyes to his uncle, and his voice to correspond, “what do you think of it, now?”
“Just as I always have, Jack. It will never do at all. Justice would halt miserably under such a system of practice. Some of the forms of pleadings are infernal, if pleadings they can be called at all. I detest even the names they give their proceedings—complaints and answers!”
“They are certainly not as formidable to the ear,” returned Jack, a little saucily, “as rebutters and sur-rebutters. But I was not thinking of the code, sir; I was asking your opinion of my new toast.”
“Even a fee could not extract an opinion, unless I heard it read.”
“Well, sir, here it is: ‘The constitution of the United States; the palladium of our civil and religious liberties,’ Now, I do not think I can much better that, uncle Tom!”
“I’m very sorry to hear you say so, Jack.”
“Why so, sir? I’m sure it is good American sentiment; and what is more, it has a flavour of the old English principles that you so much admire, about it, too. Why do you dislike it, sir?”