“Well—of course he did.”
“And did you remonstrate with him on account of his dishonesty?”
Mr. Algernon Campaigne shirked the question, and replied by another. “And do you regard this mode of money-making—I cannot call it a profession—this mode—honourable—a thing to be proud of?”
“Why not? Certain persons with no oratorical gifts are called upon to speak after dinner or on other occasions. They write to me for assistance. I send them speeches. I coach them. In fact, I am an oratorical coach. They learn what they have to say, and they say it. It is a perfectly honourable, laudable, and estimable way of making money. Moreover, my son, it makes money.”
“Then, why not conduct this—this trade—openly under your own name?”
“Because, in the nature of things, it is a secret business. My clients’ names are secret. So also is the nature of our transactions.”
“But this place is not Lincoln’s Inn. How do you spare the time from your law work?”
“My dear boy, there has been a little deception, pardonable under the circumstances. In point of fact, I never go to Lincoln’s Inn. There is no practice. I’ve got a garret which I never go near. There never has been any practice.”
“No practice?” The young man sank helplessly into a chair. “No practice? But we have been so proud all along of your distinguished career.”
“There has never been any legal practice at all. I adopted this line in the hope of making a little money at a time when the family was pretty hard up, and it succeeded beyond my expectations.”