“Yes, Mr. “Wat—— I beg pardon, Mr. What’s-your name, I would say?”
“Waters, as I perceive you know quite well. My recollection of you is not so distinct. I have no remembrance of the fashionable clothes and brilliant jewellery, none whatever; but the remarkable countenance I have seen.”
“I dare say you have, Waters,” he replied, reassuming his insolent, swaggering air. “I practice at the Old Bailey; and I have several times seen you there, not, as now, in the masquerade of a gentleman, but with a number on your collar.”
I was silly enough to feel annoyed for a moment at the fellow’s stupid sarcasm, and turned angrily away.
“There, don’t fly into a passion,” continued he with an exulting chuckle. “I have no wish to be ill friends with so smart a hand as you are. What do you say to a glass or two of wine, if only to keep this confounded wind out of our stomachs? It’s cheap enough here.”
I hesitated a few seconds, and then said, “I have no great objection; but first, whom have I the honor of addressing?”
“Mr. Gates. William Gates, Esquire, attorney-at-law.”
“Gates! Not the Gates, I hope, in the late Bryant affair?”
“Well—yes; but allow me to say, Waters, that the observations of the judge on that matter, and the consequent proceedings, were quite unjustifiable; and I was strongly advised to petition the House on the subject; but I forbore, perhaps unwisely.”
“From consideration chiefly, I dare say, for the age and infirmities of his lordship, and his numerous family?”