Mr. X. smiled.
“I have consulted my legal advisers on that point,” he replied in a firm, quiet voice, “and they are all clearly of opinion that it is not a strong point in my case, and under those circumstances I must decline to answer any questions about the matter.”
Ballantine could not get him to move from his resolution, and he was restored to his liberty and his estates.
My father and Ballantine were great rivals at Westminster and on Circuit, and I remember my father coming home with a capital story against himself which he used to tell with much glee. He and Ballantine were engaged in a case before Baron Martin, and he heard a Scots clerk in whispered tones pointing out to a friend from beyond Tweed the various celebrities.
“Who is yon?” whispered the visitor, pointing to the judge.
“Martin! Baron Martin,” replied the cicerone. “He’s a grand mon, a great mon!”
“And the mon that’s speakin’ the noo!”
“That’s Ballantine. He’s a great advocate. He’s a grand mon!”
“And the big mon sitting next him?”
My father pricked up his ears intently. The guide’s voice fell a semitone to a minor key. “That! Oh, that’s Porry! Serjeant Porry. He’s a highly over-r-rated mon.”