CHAPTER V.

_THE LAWYER IN HIS OWN DOMAIN._

_Overreach._ 'Tis a rich man's pride! there having ever been More than a feud, a strange antipathy, Between us and true gentry.

Mr. Robinson had not forgotten Mrs. Grey, nor the little business which she had confided to him. With his usual tact and judgment he had secured his bird, the bird in this case being their common debtor. Like a clap of thunder, one fine morning the news reached this worthy that his account had been attached at the bank by the man who for some time had acted as his solicitor.

He was on his knees at once with abject entreaties, and Mr. Robinson, who was too Christian-hearted to wish to crush a fellow-creature, consented to act for him again, thereby in a measure restoring his credit, but only on one condition--that he should receive without delay the amount owing for his somewhat exorbitant lawyer's bill.

"But what am I to do, my good sir?" faltered the man; "all I possess is in your hands."

"And nothing much to boast about," replied the lawyer quietly; "but, sir, you will not presume to tell me that all you possess is in the hands of your banker? Pray reflect a moment. In the dealings between man and man, especially when they hold the relation of solicitor and client--a relation which I trust will be resumed between us when this matter is adjusted--there must be frankness, honesty. Come now"--he spoke jovially--"about that fine house of furniture?"

"My wife's, I assure you--bought with her money."

The lawyer's face fell perceptibly: "Settled then?"

"Not precisely, but the same thing; you see it was in fact a wedding-present from her father, a man in an excellent position, Mr. Robinson."

"Ah!" Mr. Robinson showed his teeth. "Law doesn't recognize sentiment, my dear sir--a pity, clearly, but so it is. The furniture is yours to dispose of as you will."

The unfortunate man first flushed, then turned pale. "And what has this to do with it?" he asked rather angrily.

The lawyer raised his hand: "Calmly, calmly. These matters should be looked in the face, sir--looked in the face. I only speak in your own interest: that little balance at the bank--very little indeed, I think--is all you have to look to if you wish to set up again. I (remember, sir, I too have a wife and children) must be firm in this matter. A bill of sale on this furniture of yours--or of your wife's, if you will--can be given to me as security; I will then release your account and set you on your feet again. What do you say?"

"If it must be, it must be," replied the man with something between a groan and a sneer.

Mrs. Grey's name, or that unfortunate mortgage of the interest on which not a penny had been seen for the last year, was not, as it will be noticed, mentioned between them. One allusion only was made to it.

"We'll allow you to make a start," said Mr. Robinson benevolently, "and after that it will be time enough to look into those other little matters that are between us still."

"Those other little matters!" The bare mention of them made the unfortunate wince, especially when the reference was made to the accompaniment of Mr. Robinson's hard smile and cold, blue-steel gaze; but he hoped on, as men in his position will hope, for a stroke of luck, a good speculation, something to raise his status in the monetary world.

He drew on his gloves hurriedly: "Yes, yes, my good friend, as you so kindly say, time enough; I must feel my legs before I disburse, and to pay up at present would be out-and-out ruin. In the mean time _you_ may rely upon me. My affairs are in your hands."

So Mr. Robinson felt, and he rubbed his hands pleasantly. The consciousness of power was always agreeable to him. "I hope so, I hope so," he replied briskly. "Let me assure you, sir, that I shall watch you narrowly. In my client's interests you know it is incumbent on me to be firm."

"But in your own firmer," muttered the man between his teeth as he went down stairs. "What precious humbugs these lawyers are! If I were only out of this one's hands!" He clenched his fist and his brows contracted. That "bill of sale" was rankling in his mind, but moaning could not mend matters, and he was by no means the only one whom Mr. Robinson held that day, writhing but submissive, under his cunning hand.

He smiled when the door closed behind his client. This man's tastefully-decorated house had often awakened in the lawyer's mind not envy, malice, guile and all uncharitableness, for Mr. Robinson was a consistent man, but a certain keen admiration that perhaps, looking at it in the light of the sequel, might have passed very well for their counterfeit.

The furniture he had admired was in his power; this made the lawyer smile, but the smile passed into a business frown as a timid rap at the door announced the approach of one of his clerks.

He was bringing in the letters from the last post, and presenting those that had been written for the signature of the head of the firm. Mr. Robinson proceeded slowly to inspect his letters, the young man standing near him in a quietly respectful attitude.

"Mr. Moon been written to?" he inquired curtly.

"Yes, sir."

"And Mrs. Grey?"

"A letter from her, sir, on the table."

"Right!--wait a moment."

Mr. Robinson did everything in a quiet, business-like way. He proceeded with great deliberation to open his letters one by one, using a paper-cutter for the purpose, until he came to the one in question.

"Have you got Mrs. Grey's letter there? Ah!" He tore it across, and threw the pieces into the waste-paper basket at his side. "Tell Wilson I will write myself--something wrong there. What are you waiting for? Do you want anything?"

"Only to say, sir, that you promised--that is, I mean--"

"Say what you mean--can't you?--and don't stand there wasting my time and your own."

The young fellow's features twitched nervously. He was of good birth and breeding, though so poor as to accept, and accept thankfully, the miserable pittance of a lawyer's clerk.

"I have been with you three years, sir," he said with some dignity; "you promised my mother that if I gave you satisfaction you would give me my articles. My mother has requested me to ask you whether this promise is to be fulfilled. My poor father--"

The young man spoke easily now; he was warming to his theme. His poor father had made Mr. Robinson's fortunes.

As a man of the world he had taken him up, introduced him to his circle, a large one and influential, and by his recommendations gained for him clients innumerable.

He was dead, and before his death, by an unfortunate series of speculations, had ruined his family. His sons had been trained at school and college, they were at home in the hunting-field, they excelled in all kinds of manly sports, their pleasant accomplishments and gentlemanly ease made them welcome in every society, but as men of business they were practically useless.

Mr. Robinson had been accustomed, only when their father's back was turned, to sneer at them for fine gentlemen. Nothing aroused his jealous ire so much as the sight of what he was pleased to call a fine gentleman, for Mr. Robinson had a certain innate consciousness which more of his class possess than we generally imagine. It was this: he knew that in the world he might do his own will, coin money by the handful (for in his temperament and constitution were all the elements of success), become rich, powerful, sought out: _one_ distinction he could never reach. The quiet ease, the graceful nonchalance, the tone of high breeding which a fine gentleman possesses, as it were, by instinct, was and would always remain beyond him. And therefore he professed to despise the class.

"Tush! tush!" he said, breaking short the young man's allusion to him who had been his friend in those days when he, the great Mr. Robinson, had been climbing painfully; "don't you attempt to bring home tales to me or I'll make short work with you. There shall be no snivelling here. Mind you, it is only respect for your father's memory that induces me to keep you at all. You're not worth your salt. As to giving you your articles, what good do you suppose that would do you? Be off! mind your work, and let me have no more of such whining."

James Robinson was enjoying himself. His blue-gray eyes flashed and a smile curled his lips. To put down a fine gentleman was the finest piece of fun in the world, but this time he had gone too far. Suddenly the boy changed; manhood and manly purposes seemed to look out from his eyes, the obsequious attitude had gone, he approached his master, and dared to look him fully and fearlessly in the face: "Then, Mr. Robinson, hear me. I will sit down no more to your desk; I will bear your insolence no longer. My mother and I believed you had offered me a situation out of kindness and gratitude; yes--glare at me if you will; I repeat it--gratitude to my father's memory. We thought your intentions honest, and the peculiar ungentlemanliness of your conduct to be attributed only to your want of good breeding. I may tell you that yesterday I was offered, and offered pressingly, what you refuse so insultingly to-day, and by a far better and older firm than yours. I thought I owed you a certain duty, and would not accept it until I had put you in mind of your promise. Now I have heard you, and once and for ever I shake myself free of you, only humiliated that for three long years I should have associated daily with so base and low a nature."

He turned on his heel, he was gone, leaving Mr. Robinson in a white heat of rage and indignation. He had been hearing home-truths for once, and, what was still worse, hearing them in his own domain, the kingdom he had been accustomed to rule with a rod of iron. For a moment he was utterly taken aback, breathless, but lest the contagion should spread self-control and swift action were necessary.

"Let him go, the insolent young beggar!" he muttered; then turning he rang his bell. The office-boy appeared: "Send Mr. Wilson here." There was a notable change in his voice; the bully had gone from it, preparation was being made for the impressive chapel tone.

Mr. Wilson, the head-clerk of the firm, found his chief rather pale and exhausted, leaning back in his chair.

"Sit down, Wilson," he said with unusual urbanity; "I must have a few words with you."

The flattered Wilson obeyed.

"You noticed, I dare say," he continued after a pause, "that young McArthur went out in something of a hurry just now?"

"Yes, sir."

"I am sorry to say that I have been obliged to perform a very painful duty. I will not enter into details. My deep respect for the unfortunate youth's family, and especially the memory of his father--a true Christian, Wilson, one who sleeps in peace--makes me wish that as far as possible this should be kept a profound secret. Of course I have dismissed McArthur. It was a duty, and _from_ duty, however painful, the Christian never shrinks." Mr. Robinson paused to draw his white handkerchief over his brow. The force of habit is strong. He imagined himself for the moment on the platform of a gospel-hall. "If he had been my own son"--Mr. Robinson's face expressed proud consciousness that a Robinson could never demean himself in so mysterious a way--"if he had been my own son I could not have felt the matter more keenly; nor indeed could I have acted differently; the position I hold enforces upon me a certain responsibility. But this is all to no purpose--a few words drawn from me, as I might say, by excess of feeling on this painful occasion. What I particularly wished to say to you, Wilson, is this: it is my desire that no questions shall be asked in the house about this unfortunate boy or his sudden dismissal. You may say, if you like, that he was discontented, tired of the monotony of office-life--anything; my only wish is that he should be shielded from exposure. I would give him a chance of buckling to once more. Heaven grant, if only for his poor mother's sake, that he may see the error of his ways! But we are wasting time over this unhappy youth. Well, human nature _is_ human nature, and my feelings toward him were those of a father. Ah! I remember one thing more. It is my special wish that none of my clerks shall have intercourse of any kind with young McArthur. You will understand me, Wilson. The young man is indignant at discovery--not as yet, I fear, truly penitent. He may wish to injure the firm. We must be on our guard."

Mr. Wilson was clever as a man of business, but he did not possess much penetration. He cherished a blind admiration for his chief, and was quite ready to look upon his every statement as gospel. On this occasion he did not even stop to consider how very vague and guarded was all that Mr Robinson had said about the young man he professed to have dismissed; he was satisfied in his own mind that something dark lay behind these vague phrases, and was ready to help his chief to neutralize the mischief.

"All right, sir," he replied quietly; "I will see to the young fellows, but I scarcely think Mr. McArthur will venture to show his face here. A pity, too--a fine young man, and tolerably smart, his bringing-up considered."

"Ah! there it is," replied Mr. Robinson, with unction. "Pride, Wilson, pride, the crying sin of our fallen nature. His bringing-up was his ruin. But enough about him. Anything particular for me to-morrow?"

"No, sir; we can manage very well. You think of going into the country?"

"On business. Mrs. Grey is in some new trouble. Unfortunate woman! I suppose I had better see after the matter myself. I verily believe she has no friend in the wide world but me. Queer person, too--can't quite make her out. Send up the rest of the letters, Wilson, and if there should be anything of importance, telegraph to this address. I may probably be two or three days away."

Wilson retired, and Mr. Robinson proceeded to inspect the time tables of the Great Northern. A little change in the early summer weather would do him a world of good, and Mrs. Grey's business could easily be prolonged.

Before the letters came in for signature he had decided on an early-morning train, and was already enjoying by anticipation the luxury of a series of drives along the coast.