A glorious morning, Hassell,” said a spruce middle-aged man, as he walked up one side of the old square of Furnival's Inn, with a small valise under his arm, to a short, pale, elderly gentleman, who was listlessly strolling, in a morning gown, slippers, and velvet cap, on the opposite pathway, and in a contrary direction;—“a glorious morning as ever was seen,—bright—clear—but by no means sultry:—an excellent morning, I protest, and just to my taste.”
“Why, sir,” replied the pale old gentleman, “I must say it's fine country weather; and, I dare swear, delightful to you, who are just on the brink of quitting the miserable metropolis until the morrow of All Souls.”
“No, no,” interrupted the first speaker, in a brisk tone; “I shall only be away a month; Trout and Thomas is appointed at bar early in the term, and I must be home after the first three days of pheasant shooting to marshal my evidence. I've a subpoena duces tecum to produce the papers in Wagstaff's commission at the Cornwall assizes;—that carries me clear to Bodmin: and I'm going on a visit to an old client, who lives but eleven miles further; so that the costs out of pocket of my autumnal rustication, this year, will be but a flea-bite.”
“Ah! thou'rt a fortunate fellow,” said Hassell, with a sigh; “here have I been tied by the leg, ever since Trinity term, with annoyances growing out of Joshua Kesterton's will; and fine weather makes me rabid, because I can't go into the country to enjoy it. Adam Burdock and I will now be the only two principals left in the Inn, except bed-ridden Bailey and poor mad Royston.”
“Burdock does not ruralize, I believe.”
“Not he: and if he had a mind so to do, he couldn't just now; for he's shackled with the same case as myself.”
“But can't you meet each other half-way, and close it at once?”
“Impossible:—it's such an Augean stable, that a regiment of attornies, with a legal Hercules at their head, could not do the needful in a night. We can't get at the facts,—at least we could not until within these few days; and the results of our investigations are so unexpected and staggering, that Adam and I,—and, indeed, all parties concerned,—are well nigh paralysed. Such a case has not come under my cognizance for years: if you were not in such a hurry I'd surprise you.”
“I'm not pressed,—not at all. I share a chaise with another witness who picks me up in his way from the city; so I have only to keep my eye on the gates:—pray step across.”
“No, hang it! the sun shines there; see how it exposes the clefts and time-worn face of the building, so that the entire side of the Inn looks as though it were in the last stage of decrepitude: it even makes you look ten years older than you say you are, friend Waters. An elderly man should always walk in the shade.”