Mr Woolet took up a small volume, and was handing it to the General.
“Never mind about the Law List,” bluntly interrupted the soldier, “I see it on your sign; that’s enough for me. What I’m in search of is an attorney who can make a will. I suppose you can do that?”
“Well, General, although I cannot boast of my professional abilities, I think I can manage the making of a will.”
“Enough said; sit down and set about it.”
Considering that he kept a carriage himself, Mr Woolet might have felt a little offended by this brusque behaviour on the part of his new client. It was the first time he had ever been so treated in his own office; but then it was the first time he had ever had a client of such a class, and he knew better than to show feeling under the infliction.
Without saying another word, he sat down before his table, the General taking a seat on the opposite side, and waited for the latter to proceed.
“Write now as I dictate,” said the General, without even prefixing the word “please.”
The lawyer, still obsequious, signified assent, at the same time seizing a pen, and placing a sheet of blue foolscap before him.
“I hereby will and bequeath to my eldest son, Nigel Harding, all my real and personal estate, comprising my houses and lands, as also my stock in personal securities, excepting one thousand pounds, to be sold out of the last, and paid over to my other and youngest son, Henry Harding, as his sole legacy left from my estate.”
To this extent the lawyer finished the writing, and waited for his client to proceed.