"Well, Clancy, your case is on the Day Calendar, and is likely to be
reached this week."
"'Tis thankful Oi am, Sorr."
Michael Clancy's two hundredweight of flesh and bones rested in my most
reliable office chair, and Michael Clancy's huge hands were clasped over
his capacious stomach, while his outstretched legs were crossed in a
settled attitude.
Clancy had been entrusted to me by a sympathetic House Physician of an
up-town hospital. The story made a "negligence case."
I had taken up the matter merely out of good nature, but the old man was
a character, and I soon became interested in his personality.
For two years he had been a regular visitor at my office, ostensibly to
make inquiries as to the progress of his law suit, but really, I think,
for social recreation. A litigation does not advance very rapidly in a
New York Court for the first two years, and he knew this at the outset,
but his calls were made with a regularity which suggested routine. If he
chanced to come in while I was busy he never interrupted, but sat in the
outer offices chatting with the clerks until such time as he judged his
social duty had been discharged.
Clancy's confidence in me was certainly gratifying, but it took the form
of completely transferring to my shoulders all responsibility for the
case. His attitude toward it was that of a friend interested but not
especially involved in the outcome. Whenever he referred to it, which
was not often, he spoke of it as "yur kase," as though he had washed his
hands of it but wished me well. There was no question about his
gratitude, but his idea of expressing this was to put himself wholly in
my care and give as little trouble as possible.
I once thought that the possession of another's confidence was a proper
matter for self-congratulation, but I have never felt quite the same
about this since I finished Clancy's case.
Michael's injuries had completely incapacitated him for work and his
massive frame had taken on flesh until the ponderous body made his head
appear ridiculously small. His clean-shaven face was round, his eyes
were almost tiny, and his mouth was like that of a child.
Although loquacious to a degree, his delivery was slow, and whenever he
talked to me his every word was accompanied by an apologetic smile, so
that even when he spoke of his troubles his cheeks wore a "permanent
puff."
"Have you ever been in a court, Michael?" I asked as Clancy sat by my
desk smiling his benedictions upon my news of an early trial.
"Oi hov not, Sorr--leastways not since Dolan's Nannie wuz afther bein'
kilt be Beagan's pup."
I did not investigate Clancy's experience in that _cause celebre_,
although I saw reminiscence in his eye.
"I think we better go over your testimony, Clancy," I said. "It's
two years since the accident occurred and you may have forgotten
details--I'm sure I have. But you remember making this affidavit at
the time--do you not?"
Clancy looked at the paper in my hand and then cast a knowing glance in
my direction.
"Am Oi ter say--'Yiz'--Sorr?"
"Why you're to tell the truth, of course," I answered rather sharply.
"But you must remember swearing to this."
"Must Oi now, Sorr? Thot's all right thin. But whisper, Oi only remimber
a shlip av a gurl comin' in an' makin' little burd thracks in a bit av a
book an' you spakin' to her thot pleasant-loike--'twas fascinayted Oi
wuz."
I began to foresee trouble with this willing witness and to view Clancy
in a new light. However I tried explanation.
"That was the stenographer taking down this affidavit," I answered.
"Wuz it now, Sorr? Oi'll not forgit ut."
I felt somewhat embarrassed by the gleam of cunning in Clancy's little
eyes, but I pretended not to notice it and continued:
"I'll read the statement to you and that will refresh your memory. Then
we can go over the questions you are liable to be asked."
"'Tis as you loike, Sorr."
Clancy settled himself, with resignation rather than interest expressed
in his good-natured face, but I knew he was all attention.
"_City and County of New York ss:_" I began.
"Shure, Counsellor, Oi niver said thot. Faith, Oi want ter hilp yiz
with yur kase, but sorra a wurd loike thim iver passed me lips."
"O, never mind, Clancy!" I exclaimed, silently cursing my indiscretion.
"That's only a legal phrase with which every affidavit begins."
"All right, Sorr. 'Tis for you ter know."
Again Clancy assumed his attitude of resignation and I read on:
"_Michael Clancy being duly sworn deposes and says that he
resides at No. -- West Ninety-third Street, in the City of
New York, and that on the 15th day of May, 1896, he was in
the employ of the Cavendish Tool Company._"
"Thrue for you, Sorr--an' bad cess ter thim," commented Clancy.
"_That previous to May 15, 1896, he had been in the employ
of said Company for nine years_----"
"'Twas not so long, Sorr, for whin me sisther-in-law Theresa's sicond
child, she thot aftherwards married Bicie Sullivan's lad, wuz sick at
th' toime av me wife's brother's wake, Oi stayed from wurrk two days fur
ter luk ter th' child an' so----"
"O, well--that's near enough--say nine years," I interrupted.
"Oi'll say whativer you want, Sorr--but, be th' same token, 'tis thruth
Oi do be tellin' you now--betwane oursilves loike."
I looked sternly at Clancy's rotund countenance. This case was looming
up pregnant with possibilities in the presence of a witness with
ready-made testimony and confidential truths. Clancy as a character was
all right, but, as a client? I began to be alarmed. This had to be
stopped.
"Now, understand once and for all, Clancy," I exclaimed almost
threateningly, "I don't want you to tell anything at any time except the
truth."
Clancy relapsed again.
"'Tis for you ter know, Sorr," was all he said.