On the afternoon of the next day, Bill Napper, in clean moleskins and
black coat, made for Old Jewry. On mature consideration he had decided
to go through it alone. There was not merely one lawyer, which would be
bad enough, but two of them in a partnership; and to take the missis,
whose intellects, being somewhat flighty, were quickly divertible by the
palaver of which a lawyer was master, would be to distract and impede
his own faculties. A male friend might not have been so bad, but Bill
could not call to mind one quite cute enough to be of any use, and in
any case such a friend would have to be paid for the loss of his day's
work. Moreover, he might imagine himself to hold a sort of interest in
the proceeds. So Bill Napper went alone.
Having waited the proper time without the bar in the clerk's office, he
was shown into a room where a middle-aged man sat at a writing-table.
There was no other lawyer to be seen. This was a stratagem for which
Bill Napper was not prepared. He looked suspiciously about the room, but
without discovering anything that looked like a hiding-place. Plainly
there were two lawyers, because their names were on the door and on the
letter itself; and the letter said we. Why one should hide it was hard
to guess, unless it were to bear witness to some unguarded expression.
Bill Napper resolved to speak little, and not loud.
The lawyer addressed him affably, inviting him to sit. Then he asked to
see the papers that Bill had brought. These were an old testimonial
reciting that Bill had been employed "with his brother Benjamin" as a
boy in a brick-field, and had given satisfaction; a letter from a parish
guardian, the son of an old employer of Bill's father, certifying that
Bill was his father's son and his brother's brother; copies of the birth
registry of both Bill and his brother, procured that morning; and a
letter from Australia, the last word from Benjamin, dated eighteen years
back. These Bill produced in succession, keeping a firm grip on each as
he placed it beneath the lawyer's nose. The lawyer behaved somewhat
testily under this restraint, but Bill knew better than to let the
papers out of his possession, and would not be done.
When he had seen all, "Well, Mr. Napper," said the lawyer, rather
snappishly (obviously he was balked), "these things seem all right, and
with the inquiries I have already made I suppose I may proceed to pay
you the money. It is a legacy of three hundred pounds. Your brother was
married, and I believe his business and other property goes to his wife
and children. The money is intact, the estate paying legacy duty and
expenses. In cases of this sort there is sometimes an arrangement for
the amount to be paid a little at a time as required; that, however, I
judge, would not be an arrangement to please you. I hope, at any rate,
you will be able to invest the money in a profitable way. I will draw a
check."
Three hundred pounds was beyond Bill Napper's wildest dreams. But he
would not be dazzled out of his caution. Presently the lawyer tore the
check from the book, and pushed it across the table with another paper.
He offered Bill a pen, pointing with his other hand at the bottom of the
second paper, and saying, "This is the receipt. Sign just there,
please."
Bill took up the check, but made no movement toward the pen. "Receipt?"
he grunted softly; "receipt wot for? I ain't 'ad no money."
"There's the check in your hand--the same thing. It's an order to the
bank to hand you the amount--the usual way of paying money in business
affairs. If you would rather have the money paid here, I can send a
clerk to the bank to get it. Give me the check."
But again Bill was not to be done. The lawyer, finding him sharper than
he expected, now wanted to get this tricky piece of paper back. So Bill
only grinned at him, keeping a good hold of the check. The lawyer lost
his temper. "Why, damn it," he said, "you're a curious person to deal
with. D'ye want the money and the check too?"
He rang a bell twice, and a clerk appeared. "Mr. Dixon," said the
lawyer, "I have given this person a check for three hundred pounds. Just
take him round to the bank, and get it cashed. Let him sign the receipt
at the bank. I suppose," he added, turning to Bill, "that you won't
object to giving a receipt when you get the money, eh?"
Bill Napper, conscious of his victory, expressed his willingness to do
the proper thing at the proper time, and went out with the clerk. At the
bank there was little difficulty, except at the clerk's advice to take
the money chiefly in notes, which instantly confirmed Bill in a
determination to accept nothing but gold. When all was done, and the
three hundred sovereigns, carefully counted over for the third and
fourth time, were stowed in small bags about his person, Bill, much
relieved after his spell of watchfulness, insisted on standing the clerk
a drink.
"Ah," he said, "all you City lawyers an' clurks are pretty bleed'n'
sharp, I know, but you ain't done me, an' _I_ don't bear no malice. 'Ave
wot you like--'ave wine or a six o' Irish--I ain't goin' to be stingy.
I'm goin' to do it open an' free, I am, an' set a example to men o'
property."