“O, but I say, this won’t do,” cried the lawyer. “You’ve put your foot in it. You had no right to do what you did.”
“The whole thing is mine, Michael,” protested the old gentleman. “I founded and nursed that business on principles entirely of my own.”
“That’s all very fine,” said the lawyer; “but you made an assignment, you were forced to make it, too; even then your position was extremely shaky; but now, my dear sir, it means the dock.”
“It isn’t possible,” cried Joseph; “the law cannot be so unjust as that?”
“And the cream of the thing,” interrupted Michael, with a sudden shout of laughter, “the cream of the thing is this, that of course you’ve downed the leather business! I must say, Uncle Joseph, you have strange ideas of law, but I like your taste in humour.”
“I see nothing to laugh at,” observed Mr. Finsbury tartly.
“And talking of that, has Morris any power to sign for the firm?” asked Michael.
“No one but myself,” replied Joseph.
“Poor devil of a Morris! O, poor devil of a Morris!” cried the lawyer in delight. “And his keeping up the farce that you’re at home! O, Morris, the Lord has delivered you into my hands! Let me see, Uncle Joseph, what do you suppose the leather business worth?”