Peter began to find help necessary, and took a partner. He did this at the suggestion of Ogden Ogden, who had concluded his clerkship, and who said to Peter:
“I have a lot of friends who promise me their work. I don’t know how much it will be, but I should like to try it with you. Of course, yours is the bigger practice, but we can arrange that.”
So after considerable discussion, the sign on Peter’s door became “Stirling and Ogden,” and the firm blossomed out with an office boy—one of Peter’s original “angle” friends, now six years older than when Peter and he had first met.
Ogden’s friends did materialize, and brought good paying cases. As the city, referee, corporation and bank work increased, their joint practice needed more help, and Ray Rivington was, on Ogden’s request, taken in.
“He doesn’t get on with his law studies, though he pretends to work over them hard. In fact he’ll never be a good lawyer. He hasn’t a legal mind. But he’ll bring cases, for he’s very popular in society, and he’ll do all the palavering and running round very well. He’s just the fellow to please people.” This was what Ogden urged, adding, “I might as well tell you that I’m interested for another reason, too. He and Dorothy will marry, if he can ever get to the marrying point. This, of course, is to be between us.”
“I’ll be very glad to have him, both for his own sake, and for what you’ve just told me,” said Peter.
Thus it was that the firm again changed its name, becoming “Stirling, Ogden and Rivington,” and actually spread into two other rooms, Peter’s original little “ten by twelve” being left to the possession of the office boy. That functionary gazed long hours at the map of Italy on the blank wall, but it did not trouble him. He only whistled and sang street songs at it. As for Peter, he was too busy to need blank walls. He had fought two great opponents. The world and himself. He had conquered them both.
CHAPTER XXXIII.
A RENEWAL.
If the American people had anglicized themselves as thoroughly into liking three-volume stories, as they have in other things, it would be a pleasure to trace the next ten years of Peter’s life; for his growing reputation makes this period a far easier matter to chronicle than the more obscure beginnings already recorded. If his own life did not supply enough material we could multiply our characters, as did Dickens, or journey sideways, into little essays, as did Thackeray. His life and his biographer’s pen might fail to give interest to such devices, but the plea is now for “realism,” which most writers take to mean microscopical examination of minutia. If the physical and psychical emotions of a heroine as she drinks a glass of water can properly be elaborated so as to fill two printed pages, Peter’s life could be extended endlessly. There were big cases, political fights, globe trottings, and new friends, all of which have unlimited potentialities for numerous chapters. But Americans are peculiar people, and do not buy a pound of sugar any the quicker because its bulk has been raised by a skilful admixture of moisture and sand. So it seems best partly to take the advice of the Bellman, in the “Hunting of the Snark,” to skip sundry years. In resuming, it is to find Peter at his desk, reading a letter. He has a very curious look on his face, due to the letter, the contents of which are as follows: