"You do me honor; and I shall always hold in grateful remembrance the distinguished service you rendered us here."
"It is glorious to be appreciated, Mr. Choate. You are appreciated, Mr. Choate. Folks know you, and look up to you. They believe you are some."
"I am grateful for their and your appreciation. But, really, Mr. Wittleworth, I must beg you to excuse me, for I have important business before me," added the lawyer, nervously turning over a bundle of papers, covered with strange characters, which no mortal man could read; for they were more inexplicable than Chinese and Syriac to a Yankee farmer.
"Pardon me for detaining you yet a moment longer," pleaded Fitz, placing himself in the centre of the room, with his hat under his arm. "This is a case of wrong and injustice, of oppression and usurpation. My mother is the rightful heir to a block of stores in this city, which the greed of avarice withholds from her. Me and father have taken up the matter. We have been foully wronged;" and Mr. Wittleworth threshed his arm, and waxed eloquent. "The heel of injustice has been placed upon our necks. Mr. Choate, you are the people's advocate. Rising superior to all hopes of fee or reward, you raise your eloquent voice in behalf of the widow and the orphan. You plead at the bar of justice for the rights of the down-trodden. Your voice is like a trumpet, and—"
"So is yours; I beg you will not speak so loud. What do you wish me to do?" interposed Mr. Choate.
Fitz explained what he wished the great orator to do—to raise his voice in behalf of the oppressed, meaning his mother and himself; and he soon became quite stormy again. His single auditor, evidently amused by this display of rhetoric, permitted him to go on.
"Who has the block of stores now?" asked Mr. Choate, when Fitz began to be out of breath.
"Mr. Checkynshaw, the banker."
"Ah, indeed! I am very sorry, but I am already retained on the other side."
"On the other side!" gasped Fitz.