His earnestness staggered the old man. “I must turn my attention to law,” he said; “it will be a new field; for though, of course, I understand its general principles, I have never really applied my mind to the details, and this view of yours, for example, comes on me entirely by surprise. But you may be right, and of course at my time of life—for I am no longer young—any really long term of imprisonment would be highly prejudicial. But, my dear nephew, I have no claim on you; you have no call to support me.”
“That’s all right,” said Michael; “I’ll probably get it out of the leather business.”
And having taken down the old gentleman’s address, Michael left him at the corner of a street.
“What a wonderful old muddler!” he reflected, “and what a singular thing is life! I seem to be condemned to be the instrument of Providence. Let me see; what have I done to-day? Disposed of a dead body, saved Pitman, saved my Uncle Joseph, brightened up Forsyth, and drunk a devil of a lot of most indifferent liquor. Let’s top off with a visit to my cousins, and be the instrument of Providence in earnest. To-morrow I can turn my attention to leather; to-night I’ll just make it lively for ’em in a friendly spirit.”
About a quarter of an hour later, as the clocks were striking eleven, the instrument of Providence descended from a hansom, and, bidding the driver wait, rapped at the door of No. 16 John Street.
It was promptly opened by Morris.
“O, it’s you, Michael,” he said, carefully blocking up the narrow opening: “it’s very late.”
Michael without a word reached forth, grasped Morris warmly by the hand, and gave it so extreme a squeeze that the sullen householder fell back. Profiting by this movement, the lawyer obtained a footing in the lobby and marched into the dining-room, with Morris at his heels.
“Where’s my Uncle Joseph?” demanded Michael, sitting down in the most comfortable chair.