And that was about all that did begin for days and days. Each morning or afternoon, Sundays excepted, Captain Bangs would drop in at the office and find no one there, no one but the tenant, that is. The latter, seated behind the desk, with a big sheepskin-bound volume spread open upon it, was always glad to see his visitor. Their conversations were characteristic.
“Hello, John!” the captain would begin. “How are the clients comin'?”
“Don't know, Captain. None of them has as yet got near enough so that I could see how he comes.”
“Humph! I want to know. Mr. John D. Jacob Vanderbilt ain't cruised in from Newport to put his affairs in your hands? Sho'! He's pretty short-sighted, ain't he?”
“Very. He's losing valuable time.”
“Well, I expected better things of him, I must say. Ain't gettin' discouraged, are you, John?”
“No, indeed. If there was much discouragement in my make-up I should have stopped before I began. How is the fish business, Captain?”
“Well, 'tain't what it ought to be this season of the year. Say, John, couldn't you subpoena a school of mackerel for me? Serve an order of the court on them to come into my weirs and answer for their sins, or somethin' like that? I'd be willin' to pay you a fairly good fee.”
On one occasion the visitor asked his friend what he found to do all the long days. “Don't study law ALL the time, do you, John?” he queried.
Kendrick shook his head. “No,” he answered, gravely. “Between studies I enjoy the view. Magnificent view from this window, don't you think?”