There was but one thing to be done, and I did it. I hurriedly collected all the law-books I possess (Shearwood’s “Abridgment of Real Property,” an odd volume of Stephen’s “Commentaries,” and an early edition of “The Comic Blackstone”), jumped into a hansom, and rattled down to Pump-Handle Court. Arrived there, I handed my brief to my clerk (the sharp-looking youth who had given me the paper turned out to be my clerk), and instructed him to put it in a prominent position in his own room, so that my client, when he arrived, might see it, and conclude that I had so many matters just then in hand that I had not had as yet time to look into his case, which was waiting its turn for consideration with numerous others. I was ashamed to give these instructions, but reflected that it was important, having regard to my professional prospects, that my expected visitor should be kept as long as possible in ignorance of the fact that he was my solitary employer.
“All right, sir,” said my clerk, with a facial gesture which I regret to say savoured of a wink. “He will be here by eleven.”
I now entered my own room. It was rather in disorder. I share my chambers with an intimate friend, and as I am very often away, he sometimes uses my sanctum (entirely with my consent) as a receptacle for empty packing-cases, old cigar-boxes, superfluous window-curtains, and worn-out boots. With the assistance of my clerk, who followed me in, I soon set things to rights, putting on the month-indicator from October to March, filling the inkstand with copying fluid, and removing somebody’s pot-hat from the brows of my bust of the late Lord Chancellor Brougham.
“There, sir, I think that will do now,” said my clerk, with a look of satisfaction, and he left me seated at my desk turning over some dusty brief paper which I had found knocking about in one of the drawers.
My room is a semi-subterranean apartment in a circular tower. I have two small casements looking out upon some gardens, but as I occupy the basement, I can only see the ankles of the passers-by, and am myself free from observation save when some more than usually unruly urchin brings his head level with mine, and makes faces at me through the window.
I repeat I was turning over the dusty brief-paper, and toying with Mr. Shearwood’s very excellent “Abridgment,” when the door was thrown open and my clerk announced, “Someone to see you, sir.”
“You will pardon me,” I said, without looking up, consulting in the meantime the hand-book before me with knitted brows, “but I am engaged for a few moments. I will attend to you directly.”
“Oh, certainly, sir,” replied the new-comer, in the most deferential tone possible; and he took a seat.
I jotted down the incidents of Borough English, frowned as if engaged in deep thought, and then smilingly turned to my visitor, and asked him how I could be of service to him.