Mrs Wrigley was accordingly ushered in, the dust of travel still on her, for she had come direct from Liverpool by the night train, determined to put her wrongs in the hands of the law. Mr Crawley, Samuel’s principal, had been legal adviser to the late Mr Wrigley; it was only natural, therefore, that the widow, not liking to entrust her secret to the pettifogging practitioner of her own village, should make use of a two hours’ break in her journey to seek his aid.
“Your master’s not in, young man?” said she, as she took the proffered seat. “That’s a pity.”
“I’m sure he’ll be very sorry,” said Sam; “but if it’s anything I can do—”
“If you can save poor defenceless women from being plundered, and punish those that plunder them—then you can.”
Here was a slice of luck for Samuel! The first bit of practice on his own account that had ever fallen in his way. If he did not make a good thing out of it his initials were not S.S.!
He drew his chair confidentially beside that of the injured Mrs Wrigley, and drank in the story of her woes with an interest that quite won her heart. At first he failed to recognise either the name of the delinquent Corporation or its secretary, but when presently his client produced one of the identical circulars sent out, with the name Cruden Reginald at the foot, his professional instincts told him he had discovered a “real job, and no mistake.”
He made Mrs Wrigley go back and begin her story over again (a task she was extremely ready to perform), and took copious notes during the recital. He impounded the document, envelope and all, cross-examined and brow-beat his own witness—in fact, did all a rising young lawyer ought to do, and concluded in judicial tones, “Very good, Mrs Wrigley; I think we can do something for you. I think we know something of the parties. Leave it to us, madam; we will put you right.”
“I hope you will,” said the lady. “You see, as I’ve been all the way up to Liverpool and back, I think I ought to be put right.”
“Most certainly you ought, and you shall be.”
“And to think of his brazen-faced impudence in calling me ‘Love,’ young man. There’s a profligate for you!”