THE PETTIFOGGER.
The legal profession numbers among its disciples a large class of
honorable and high-minded men; and it also includes some needy
adventurers well versed in the arts of pettifogging and chicanery, and
willing, for a consideration, to throw over the most discreditable
proceedings the mantle of the law, thus perverting, to the injury of the
public, that which was intended for its principal safeguard.
Of this latter class was Richard Sharp, Banister, whose name might have
been read on the door of an exceedingly dirty little office not far from
Wall Street. Being under the necessity of introducing my reader to some
acquaintances and localities not altogether desirable I must trouble him
to enter Mr. Sharp’s office.
In the centre of the office stands a table covered with green baize.
Scattered over it are diverse bundles tied with red tape, evidently
intended to give the unsophisticated visitor the impression that Mr.
Sharp’s business is in a most flourishing condition. Nevertheless, since
the novelist is permitted to see farther into the shams which he
describes than is accorded to others less privileged, it may be remarked
that these identical bundles have lain upon the table with no other
alteration than an occasional change of arrangement, ever since the
office was opened.
The enterprising proprietor of the bundles aforesaid is smoking a cigar,
while reading the Morning Herald, and occasionally glancing out of the
window near by. His features would hardly justify the description of
“beauty in repose,” being deeply pitted with smallpox, which is not
usually thought to improve the appearance. His nose is large and
spreading at the base. His hair is deeply, darkly, beautifully red,
bristling like a cat’s fur when accidentally rubbed the wrong way. Add
to these a long, scraggy neck, and the reader has a tolerable idea of
Mr. Sharp as he sat in his office on the first day of October, 18—.
How long he would have sat thus, if uninterrupted, is uncertain. His
meditations were broken in upon by a quick, imperative knock at the
door. The effect upon Mr. Sharp was electrical. He sprang from his seat,
tossed his cigar away, wheeled his chair round to the table, and drawing
a blank legal form towards him, knit his brows and began to write as if
life and death depended upon his haste. Meanwhile the visitor became
impatient and rapped again, this time more imperatively.
“Come in,” called Mr. Sharp, in a deep bass voice, not raising his eyes
from the paper on which his pen was now scratching furiously. “Take a
seat; shall be at leisure in a moment,—full of business, you know,—can’t
get a moment’s rest.”
When at length he found time to look up, he met the gaze of our recent
acquaintance, Lewis Rand. The latter, who had penetration enough to see
through the lawyer’s artifice, smiled a little derisively.
“It must be a satisfaction to you,” he said, rather dryly, “to find your
services in such request.”
“Why, yes, ahem! yes,” said the lawyer, passing his fingers through his
bristling locks. “It is a satisfaction as you say, though I confess,” he
continued, with a dashing effrontery quite refreshing to contemplate,
“that sometimes when my labors are protracted far into the night, I feel
that business has its pains as well as pleasures, and cannot help
wishing that——”
“That you had a partner to relieve you of a portion of your toils, you
doubtless mean to say,” interrupted Lewis, with a quizzical smile; for
he was quite aware that Mr. Sharp meant no such thing. “In that case I
know the very man for you; a young man just entered at the bar, very
promising, and bidding fair to distinguish himself in his profession. I
should be happy to serve both you and him. When shall I introduce him?”
“Why,” said Sharp, in some embarrassment, for he knew to his cost that
his business was quite too limited to support himself, much less a
partner. “Why, you see, although my business is, as I said, very
driving, I do not at present think of taking a partner. The fact is, I
never enjoy myself more than when I am hard at work. It is an
idiosyncrasy of mine, if I may so express myself.”
And Mr. Sharp looked up, thinking he had made a very clever evasion.
“When I do conclude to take a partner, which the increase of my business
may at some time render absolutely necessary,” he added, graciously
inclining his head, “I will certainly think of your friend. Your
recommendation will be a sufficient guarantee of his ability.”
“I feel deeply indebted to you for the confidence you express in my
judgment,” said Lewis, bowing, “particularly as I am a perfect stranger
to you. Such instances are rarely met with in a world like ours.”
Mr. Sharp was not quite sure whether his visitor was not secretly
bantering him. He thought it best, however, to construe his meaning
literally.
“I am not usually hasty in bestowing my confidence, Mr.—your name
escaped me.”
“I think I have not mentioned it.”
“O ho, ahem! perhaps not,” continued Mr. Sharp, finding his little
artifice to obtain his visitor’s name ineffectual, “but as I was about
to say, I seldom give my confidence without good reason. I am—I may
say—somewhat skilled in physiognomy, and a cursory examination of the
features is sufficient, in ordinary cases, to enable me to form an
opinion of a person.”
Mr. Sharp was fertile in expedients, and had an abundant share of
self-possession.
“Perhaps we had better proceed to business,” said Lewis, abruptly.
“Oh, by all means, sir, by all means?” returned Mr. Sharp, assuming a
brisk tone at the prospect of a client. “As I before remarked, I never
feel more completely in my element than when immersed in business. It is
an——”
“If you will give me your attention for a few minutes,” pursued Lewis,
unceremoniously interrupting him, “I will endeavor to explain the nature
of the service I require.”
Mr. Sharp bent forward, and assumed an attitude of the most earnest
attention. He nodded slightly, and screwed up his eyes, as if to
intimate that he was about to concentrate all his mental energies upon
the matter in hand.
“You must know,” said Lewis, slowly, “that there are two persons living
in this city whose presence, in what way it is needless to specify,
conflict very seriously with my interests. It is my wish to bring some
motive to bear upon them which shall lead to their departure from the
city.”
“I understand,” nodded Mr. Sharp, with an air of profound wisdom. “Go
on, my good sir.”
“One difficulty, however, meets me at the outset,” continued Lewis; “I
do not know in what part of the city the two persons——”
“Aforesaid,” prompted Mr. Sharp, nodding sagaciously.
“Live,” concluded Lewis, not heeding the interpolation; “nor have I any
definite clew by which to find them.”
“Can you describe these persons to me so that I may be able to identify
them?”
“That is not easy, since one of them I have never seen but once, and the
other but once in fifteen years.”
Mr. Sharp looked a little puzzled.
“I can, however, tell you this much. One is a man of about forty, who
appears somewhat older. The other, his daughter, is a girl of fourteen,
or thereabouts. The former is a little absent in manner, or was formerly
so; the little girl, I should judge, is attractive in her personal
appearance.”
“When did you last meet them?” inquired the lawyer.
“One evening last week.”
“And where?”
“They were then leaning against the railing on the west side of the
Park.”
“Can you tell at what hour?”
“About six.”
“Then it is quite possible that they may be found at the same place some
evening, at or near this hour. Very probably they are in the habit of
taking a walk at that time and in that direction. We are all creatures
of habit, and are apt to stick to the ruts we have made. Have you no
other clew by which I may be guided? It is quite likely that there are
others to whom the description you have given will apply. When you saw
them, in what manner were they dressed?”
“I had but a brief glimpse, and do not feel altogether sure. The father
is as tall as yourself. I can tell you the girl’s name also; it is
Helen.”
“And her father’s?”
“I could tell you his real name, but as I have every reason to believe
that he has dropped it and assumed another, it will, perhaps, be
unnecessary. His Christian name is Robert.”
“The first step, then,” said Mr. Sharp, reflectively, “is, of course, to
find these persons. This will be a matter of some difficulty, and may
require considerable time. I do not doubt, however, that I shall
ultimately be able to accomplish it. May I inquire whether they are in
good circumstances pecuniarily?”
“Probably not. I presume their means are quite limited.”
“So much the better.”
“For what reason?” inquired Lewis, in some curiosity.
“Simply this. You tell me you are desirous of removing them from the
city; if they are poor it will be much easier to offer an inducement
likely to weigh with them, than if they were in prosperous
circumstances.”
“There is something in that, I admit, but if Robert is as proud as he
used to be in days gone by, such an attempt would avail but little.
However, there is no occasion to consider what further steps are to be
taken, till we have actually found them. That must be our first care.”
“In that I shall endeavor to serve you. How and where shall I
communicate with you?”
“I shall call upon you frequently. There may, however, be occasions when
it will be needful to communicate with me without delay. In such an
event, a note directed to L. Thornton, Box 1228, will reach me.”
Mr. Sharp noted this address on a slip of paper, and bowed his client
out.
There will of course be no difficulty in divining why Lewis considered
it detrimental to his interests that Helen and her father should remain
in the city. He was in constant alarm lest some accident should bring
together the father and son, who had for so long a time been separated
from each other. He was playing for a large stake, and was not
fastidious as to the means employed, provided they insured his success.
His visit to the copyist, and the bold forgery perpetrated with his
assistance, afforded sufficient evidence of this. He was disposed,
however, to use very prudent precaution. Why he was induced to call in
the co-operation of a needy, and well nigh briefless lawyer like Mr.
Sharp, may be gathered from the soliloquy in which he indulged on
leaving the office of the worthy attorney.
“There’s a great deal of humbug about that fellow,” he said to himself,
“but he is quick-witted and unscrupulous—two qualities which adapt him
to my service. Again, he is poor, and not overburdened with business, so
that he will be the more likely to attach himself to my interests.
Things seem to be in a fair train. It is fortunate that my cousin does
not know of his father’s removal to this city; he doubtless imagines him
a hundred miles away. It is indispensable that I should not show myself
in this business, but leave everything to Sharp. When the property is
mine, I can bid my cousin defiance.”
The wily nephew hastened to the bedside of his uncle, where, with
feigned solicitude, he inquired after his health. It is well for our
happiness that we cannot always read the hearts of those about us. How
hollow and empty would then seem some of the courtesies of life!