In Fool's Paradise

Chapter I

A SCEXE FROM CLERICAL LIFE, Law is a jealous mistress." — Blaelstone. We cannot, we think, do better than borrow a few words, to serve as the opening to this history, from Sir Walter Scott, who, as you will remember, dear Miss Smith, is well known as the author of the libretti of the operas of " Lucia di Lamrnermoor," " The Talis man/' and " Ivanhoe ; " and who also wrote certain novels and so-called poems now buried in the oblivion they deserve, or, at least, remembered only by such old fashioned people as ourselves. " It was," then, " early on a fine winter day towards the close of the nineteenth century, that a young man of genteel appearance " entered the office of the great City firm of solicitors, Messrs. Thompson, Dixon, and Harrison, in which he occupied the dignified and lucrative position of an articled clerk, and, after skilfull}' evading the observation of one of his three masters, who happened to be coming out, made his way to the dingy room in which he sat and worked when ever he was not better employed in amusing himself.

" Is it really half-past eleven ? " said the young man, with an apologetic glance at the clock. " I'm afraid I'm shamefully late, but I was detained by really impovtant business this morning." " Pray don't mention it, Mr. Belhouse," replied the managing clerk, whom be was supposed by a legal fiction to assist in his work. " We had some difficulty in beginning without you, but we have contrived to make something of a start. Would you like to see the few trifling alterations I ventured to make in the draft lease you have been occupied on for the last week ? It's very nicely written, and, when you've learned to copy correctly, you'll be quite useful in drawing the formal parts of deeds." " Dear me ! " said Mr. Belhouse, coolly, " what a burst of satire ! I suppose Mr. Macdougal picked up everything by intuition when he started on his career.

But it isn't given to every man to be born a lawyer's clerk. I'm afraid I'm looked on rather as a nuisance in this room, but pray don't think I'm here by choice. I'd much rather be somewhere else, I assure you." "Well, I'm going to ask you to be somewhere else for ten minutes," said the Scotchman, retiring from the contest of politenesss. " There's a lady waiting to see me on rather private business, so, if you don't mind " " Oh, no ! / don't mind. Give the lady my com pliments, and say if she'd rather see me she needn't mind saying so," and the young man went out whistling, to the horror of his senior. " Pleasing time I should have of it," he remarked to himself, " if my services were considered worthy of a salary. I believe I'll go in the outer office — I prefer the lawyer's clerk in his earlier stages of development.

He's more respectful to beginners." He lounged into the outer office, where he found the cashier busy with his accounts, and to him he offered his valuable assistance. On that being declined he amused himself with the newspaper, and flattered him self that he was reading law because he began with the Police Intelligence. Presently the clerk was called away, and Mr. Belhouse was left alone. In a few A Scene from Clerical L ife. 3 minutes the door opened and a provincial-looking old gentleman came into the office. "Is Mr. Macdougal disengaged?" he asked in so polite a manner that Belhouse concluded at once that he had come to borrow some money. " Mr. Macdougal is in his room, sir," he replied with equal courtesy, " but he's engaged with a lady who, after the manner of her charming sex, requires his whole attention."

" I want to see him about the Bramblehurst estate," said the visitor, taking a seat, " but I am in no hurry." "Ah! the Bramblehurst estate," said Belhouse, anxious to show that he, too, was a man of affairs. " I know all about that quite as well as Mr. Macdougal. I suppose you know the earl's going to settle it on his daughter, Lady Lucy. AVhen you want a reduction in your rent you'll have to get it out of four landlords instead of one. How will you like that ? " The farmer laughed, perhaps at the idea of four landlords to one farm. " Well, I do farm a few acres there," he said ; " but I shouldn't like to have to pay much rent out of what I make by it." " Very lively sort of boy Lady Lucy will have for a husband," went on Belhouse, delighted at having found somebody to talk to. " I suppose you've heard she's going to marry Sir Randal Huntley.

JNbw if I were advising the earl, her property should be tied up as tight as red tape could do it — though Huntley is the son of a Bark." " Why, do you know Sir Randal ? " said the client, in some surprise. " Oh, yes. I know the gentle youth. I was up at Cardinal with him (at Oxford, you know), but in rather a different set. My humble allowance didn't afford muck scope for whist at ten-shilling points, and poker up to anything you please. He was chiefly remarkable for b the height of his collars — we used to wonder where he found a tradesman to pander to his morbid imagination. One day he told a man he had a bad cold, and the fellow implored him not to sneeze with his collar on or he'd be sure to cut his own throat — that was a great joke for the rest of the term. A little wit goes a long way at Oxford, you know, in spite of what people think."

" So I should fancy," said the old gentleman, who had, perhaps, heard this merry jest before, since he did not greet it with so much laughter as it deserved. " But look here, you can't be wasting your valuable time here all day," pursued Belhouse, in a patronizing tone. " Suppose you tell me what you want. I shall do quite as well as Mr. Macdougal." "I think I would rather see him," said the old gentleman, smiling. " Oh, of course, just as you please. I'll go in and see whether he's finished with his fair client," said Belhouse, and he went into his own room, where he found the clerk alone. "Here's somebody come to see you," he said, carelessly. " I didn't ask his name, but he looks like a farmer in good circumstances, if there is such a thing nowadays. I think he's one of the Bramblehurst tenants."

" Bramblehurst," repeated the clerk. " What — does be wear a blue and white spotted handkerchief and drab trousers ? " " That's the man. Shall I tell him to come in ? " " Tell him to come in ! Why, it's the earl himself. What do you whistle like that for ? I hope to goodness you haven't been treating him with disrespect. A farmer in good circumstances ! I should think they might have taught you at Oxford to recognize a nobleman when you see one, if they taught you nothing else." Mr. Macdougal was very fond of sneering at Oxford, which he considered to be a very much overrated university and a hot-bed of snobbishness. " I'm afraid I was rather off-handed with him," said Belhouse, penitently. " How on earth was I to know who he is? Why can't he wear his coronet when he comes among common people like lawyers."

" Lawyers, indeed ! " sneered the clerk angrily. " Ask him to come in for Heaven's sake, and let me see what I can do. I really shall have to speak to Mr. Harrison about your unbusiness-like habits, before you get us into some awful mess ! " Belhouse made his escape just as the old lord entered. "Good morning, Mr. Macdougal," he said. "I took the liberty of coming in as I haven't much time." " Oh, my lord," cried the Scotchman, " I'm so sorry that you should have had to wait. If I'd known — " " It doesn't matter in the least; I've been talking to a young gentleman outside who seems quite ready to take your place whenever it's vacant." " I can quite believe it, or your Lordship's either." " He seems rather a nice lad," said the good-natured old gentleman. " Who is he ? One of Mr. Thompson's sons ?

" " Oh, no. He's the son of Colonel Belhouse, one of our clients in India. He's just left Oxford, and I've tried in vain to find out what they teach them there. Now at St. Andrews — " " Ah ! quite so ; I thought he seemed more like a gentleman than — a — many young men nowadays," said Lord Bramber, ending his sentence rather differently from what he had intended at first. " But this is what I want to speak to you about," and they were soon immersed in business. In the meantime Belhouse was grumbling outside. "I shall cut this business," he said to himself, con fidential!}' ; " it isn't fit for a gentleman, and there's too much strain on your intellect. Besides, the hours are too long and you don't get enough exercise. Here's a jolly day to do something, and now I have to stick in here and work like blazes.

Here, young man," he cried to a clerk who was getting into his overcoat, " where are you going with that letter ? " "Just going to take it to Gray's Inn, sir," answered the lad. " Mr. Thompson said I was to wait for an answer." " Oh, did he ? Well, it requires a more experienced man than you are, Mr. Smith ; so give it to me and I'll save you the trouble. I want an excuse to get out." The boy, who was quite as anxious to get out as he was, surrendered the letter sulkily, and Belhouse walked away on his important errand. " Harold Temperly, Esq., 119, Gray's Inn Square," he said as he read the direction of the letter, " I'm obliged to you for the walk you're going to give me this fine morning, and if you're anything of a fellow and would like a game of billiards somewhere up in the West End, I'm your man ; I can't say fairer than that."

He did not hurry himself in his walk. He knew that lawyers' letters are seldom very welcome, and out of a feeling of consideration for Harold Temperly, whoever he might be, he walked in a very leisurely manner, had his hair cut, took a light luncheon, conversed with one or two of his friends whom he met, and looked into all the shop windows between Mark Lane and Holborn. But the most leisurely walk comes to an end at last, and in time he arrived at 119, Gray's Inn Square. When he had climbed to the top of the inconveniently high staircase of that abode of learning, he discovered the name of Harold Temperly painted in large letters on the outside of the door — in other words, he found the " oak sported" — or in yet other words, he found the heavy iron bound outer door shut. You will remember, dear Miss Smith, if you have been ever in chambers, to take tea (or some other refreshment), at five o'clock (or some other hour), with your (or some one else's) brother, that, when you arrived panting and nervous at the top of the staircase, you found that door open, but that when, aster finishing the refreshment provided for you, you were dismissed by your host it had somehow got shut; and you would have remarked (only that it was on the other side), a piece of paper on it certifying that the occupier of the chambers was in the Second Court of Appeal, or in the country, or gone to the levee, accordingto the warmth of the imagination of the writer and the particular hour of the twenty-four.

However, "oaks are sported" at Oxford as well as in London, and Belhouse knew that most inhabitants of chambers teach their friends a peculiar kind ot' knock — a sort of countersign — which will inform them that the gentleman outside is on their visiting list, and has a right to admittance unless they are particularly en gaged at the moment. He also knew that a man is rather apt to get "mixed," between his own private knock and those of his friends, and that any arrange ment of raps which sounds original is likely to bring out the tenant. So he began, Rap— Rap — Rap — tap — tap — tap — Rap — and this he repeated twice. Then the door was cautiously opened and the owner peeped out. He was a tall, thin young man, dressed with studious simplicity in a very old shootingjacket and a pair of white flannel trowsers that might once have deserved that epithet.

He wore no collar, and was probably on the point of shaving himself when Bel house's knock had interrupted him. " I want to see Mr. Harold Temperly," said the latter. "I've come from Thompson, Dixon, and Harrison — his solicitors, you know. " " I'm afraid Mr. Temperly's not in," said the man in flannels, politely ; " he went down into the country yesterday." "That's awkward," said Belhouse. " When do you think he will be back ? " " Well, it's rather uncertain. His great-aunt Ladv What's— " " Lady who ? " " I said Lady Watts— is very ill and he has great ex pectations from her, so he may be away some little time. But if you like to leave a message, I shall be writing to him to-day, and I'll be sure to send it on." ' I'll come in and write a note if I may," said Bel house, who was anxious to see the inside of the chambers.

" Hum ! If it's not very important " " Oh ! I shan't be a minute, and it is important." The man in flannels rather unwillingly led the way into a sitting-room, which was not exactly incumbered with furniture, and Belhouse sat down to write a note at the table. As he had not the least idea what he was going to say, he took a look round the room to assist his invention and the first thing he noticed was an open envelope on the table addressed to H. Temperly, with a post-maik bearing the date of the day. " Hullo ! " said he, " you seem to be pretty much in Mr. Tem perly's confidence, so perhaps I'd better leave the letter I've got with you." The other man looked uncomfortable, but said with dignity, " I have already told you that Mr. Temperly has gone into the country to see his uncle, and if you doubt my word — " "Oh! not at all," replied Belhouse; "it was his great aunt just now, but I suppose it's all the same.

I've got one of those relations myself, and I know how difficult it is to remember their sex, not to sayT their names, for ten minutes together." He looked at the man in flannels and winked at him ever so slightly. The man in flannels looked at him and they both burst out laughing, like the two Augurs. "Well," he said, "suppose for the moment my name's Temperly. What was your message about ?" " Oh ! I haven't got any message. I've only got a letter, but I thought I'd be prepared for any questions they might ask when I get back." "Ah, well, hand it over and I'll open it. I open all his letters when he is away — we've no secrets from each other." " Yes, and wear his clothes and eat his dinner too, I've no doubt," replied Belhouse, knowingly. " Your name's Smith, isn't it ? " " No, Jones." " Ah !

I meant Jones. I remember a man at Oxford named Jones — at Jesus. Now I think of it, you're rather like him." " My brother, no doubt," replied the other, who was by this time reading his letter attentively. " Deuce take it ! " he added, off his guard ; "I'd forgotten all about this. I say, do yrou know what's in this letter ? " " Not a bit, unles3 it's to tell Temperly he's come into his great-aunt's fortune, in which case I shall be happy to advise him as to the proper way to spend it like a gentleman." " Fortune, by jingo ! it's the other way about. Your friends, Thompson, Dixon, and Harrison — " " Don't call them my friends, for Heaven's sake. If there's a man in this world I hate more than old Thompson it's youug Dixon, and — " " Oh ! it doesn't matter. I beg your pardon, I'm sure. Anyhow, they've got hold of a bill of mine — or rather of Temperly's — for 30/., which it seems is due, and the)7 want it paid at once or they'll take proceedings."

" I shouldn't wonder ; it's just like them. Well, you'd better pay it, or rather Temperly had better pay it at once." Jones — so-called — began walking about in great perturbation. " Look here," he said, stopping suddenly-, " you're a lawyer, aren't you ? " "Well, no," replied Belhouse, "I can hardly say that. You have been misled by my learned appearance. Frankly speaking, I am not." " Anyhow, you know something about these con founded things. Do you mind telling me what I ought to do ? I'm a student of Lincoln's Inn myself, so I don't know much about Common Law, and besides, I've never had time to read a law book yet ; I really must begin soon, though." " I'm supposed to be retained on the other side, you know," replied Belhouse ; " but I don't want to give myself airs. I'm open to corruption, like my betters.

Have you got any soda-water by any chance — or even whiskey ? " "Yes, of course — how thoughtless of me! — and there's a box of cigars ; they're rather good ones, I think. Let's be comfortable while we can." They installed themselves in two armchairs, each armed with a cigar and a long tumbler, and the host began, — " Now then, what will happen to me if I don't pay this money ? " " You'll get another letter." " Well, I don't mind that— what next ? " " This is a letter from the Queen. We keep them ready printed in a drawer at the office." " Oh ! a writ. I don't soar above County Court summonses as a rule, and as I know most of the bailiffs — but never mind that. Well, what'll happen if I don't pay up after a writ ? " Belhouse was getting to the end of his legal know ledge, but he answered boldly, — " Oh, they'll enter an appearance for you, and you'll have to find bail."

" The deuce I shall ! How much for ? " " Twice the amount of the debt — that's easy enough ; anybody will be bail for you ! " " Oh, of course," said the other man, with a grin. " And then, if you don't apply for a stay of execu tion, they'll sign judgment ; and when it gets as far as that, you'd better consult a respectable solicitor — if you know one." " I don't." " No more do I. I don't believe there is such a thing. It's a conventional expression like ' the learned counsel,' or ' the honourable member for Ballyrag.' Fancy belonging to a profession in which it's con sidered a compliment to be called ' respectable ' ; I have to thank my father for that." " And for a good many other things too, I suspect," said the other with a glance at Belhouse's shining hat and smart cane, which lay on the table beside him.

" Yes, he's very good ; but I wish he'd let me go to the Bar. He says he spends so much money on attorneys, as he calls them, that he means to keep it in the family for the future. This is very good whiskey of yours. I'll help myself again if I may." Mr. Temperly nodded and held out his hand for the decanter for himself. He stared into the fire for some time and then broke out, " Oh ! hang it, who cares ? 1 shall manage somehow." "Things are very bad in the City," said Belhouse gravely ; " I never knew money so hard to come by." " They're very bad in Gray's Inn," replied Temperly. "If it wasn't for that old lady " — he threw a cork at a framed cabinet photograph on the mantel-piece — " I should have to live like a bear by sucking my paws till I can find a proper field for my undoubted talents.

The Bar's played out, journalism is no good, and high way robbery's gone out of fashion. I've got a great idea that a good deal might be done with the three card trick by elevating it in the scale of society and making it a drawing-room game — like Baccarat. It would just suit women — no memory required, no judg ment, no nothing. I only want two things to make me go in for it heavily." " Which be they ? " asked Belhouse, in tbe words of the Church Catechism. " Only the proper introductions and the knack of placing the cards. In the meantime I must leave the aristocracy to their own selfish and demoralizing amusements. But I've got an original symphony that's really worth money if I could only get the publishers to think so. I call it the ' Ohne Kreutzer Sonata.' You don't happen to know a capitalist who might feel disposed to lend a pony or so on an unpublished symphony, do you ?

" * " Just at this moment I don't recall the name of one," said Belhouse, " but old Thompson might perhaps take it as a security for that bill." " It's really very good, you know," said Temperly, producing a battered old MS. music book. " Would vou like to hear it ? " " Oh ! thanks. Very7 much," said Belhouse, politely but insincerely. "I'm afraid I can only give you an idea of it," said the composer, sitting down to the piano. " The fact is there are two notes gone out of this second-hand hurdygurdy. There were some men in here the other night playing the Giddy Goat, and they took out the wires to poke out their pipes with. But this is how it goes." He ran his fingers over the keys and began to play a piece of music which probably depended for its effect so much on the two missing notes, that it was unfair to attempt to judge of it in their absence.

However, he made as much of it as the deficiencies of the in strument would allow, and Belhouse sat for some ten minutes enduring the torture as best he might. Suddenly the musician stopped and wheeled round on his seat till he faced his guest. " You know, that's not half a bad idea of yours," he said. " Do you think your people would really take this as a security for that bill ? " " Try them," replied Belhouse, encouragingly, anxious to escape from the infliction at any price. " Well, I will. They can but send it back again ; that'll put off the writ for a couple of days, anyhow. I must make it clear that it's not sent for publication without my knowledge and consent, but only as a guarantee of good faith and to show them that I'd pay them if I could, I think I'll take advantage of your experience, and write them a letter with your help, and you can take it back."

"Much obliged," said Belhouse. "I don't want to be flung out of the office." " Oh, just as you like, of course ; only I thought you might tell them you'd heard it played and could answer for its merits. Where's a piece of paper ? What style do you advise ? Courteous and apologetic — relieved by flashes of humour. How would that do?" "Humour to old Thompson is pearls before swine," Belhouse remarked. " Before I knew him well I tried him with my choicest bons-mots, but he might have been a graven image for all the laugh I could get out of him." Presently Temper!}' finished his letter and read it aloud. " It's written in the first person," he explained, "because I don't want to be too distant with them — after all, they're only doing their duty, you know. " ' Gentlemen, — I regret to inform you that I am for the moment unable to meet the bill you hold, which was, as you probably know, given solely to oblige a friend, who is not in town.

Owing to the unfortunate state of things in the City ' they are pretty bad there, aren't they? " "Horrid," said Belhouse, filling his glass. "It's ever so much nicer up here." " ' In the City, I am reduced to the sum of twenty five shillings, which I will not insult you by offering as a payment on account. The moment things get better I will make a point of satisfying your claim among the very first. In the meantime, as a proof of my bona sides' — that's a legal phrase, isn't it? — 'I have been advised ' — by a gentleman from your own respectable office — ' to deposit with you the MS. of a Work '—capital W, but an ' op ' would be more impressive still—' that only requires to be played in public by an artist in long-hair, and the-day-before-yesterday's shirt, to obtain the renown which it deserves.

I trust to that sense of honour which I have never yet found wanting in gentlemen of your profession' — they can't resist fhat, — 'not to dispose of it without my knowledge, and I remain, yours faithfully, Harold Temperly.' What do you think of that, now ? " " You're not going to send it really, are you ? " asked Belhouse. " Rather — why shouldn't I ? and you can tell me what they say." " In the first place, it is not worth the paper — horrid bad paper, too — that it's written on," baid Belhouse, learnedly. " When you assign a chose in action like a MS. you must do it by a deed." " The deuce ! " said Temperly, pulling his moustache. " What a lot you know. If I strike out ' yours faithfully ' and put ' as witness my hand and seal,' and then stick a ten-shilling stamp on it, it'll be a deed, won't it ?

" " Oh, yes— certainly." Temperly looked at him with a twinkle in his eyes and made the suggested alteration. " I believe I'll leave them to put on the ten-shilling stamp," he said, as he directed an envelope. " There, that's done. I feel quite as if I'd paid the bill. I shall appoint you my tame solicitor, and you shall enter on your duties at once. Let's go and have a game at billiards." " It's rather unprofessional." said Belhouse, doubtfully ; " but, after all, it doesn't matter much. I've done some work to-day. I'll wait while you get into your gay clothing." Temperly made a face which might mean anything and vanished, leaving his guest to examine at leisure the quarters in which he found himself.

Chapter II

"gaudeamus igitur." '' Some of our friends, if not perchance altogether ebrii, or drunken, were to say the least, ebrioli, by which the ancients designed those who were fuddled, or.as your English vernacular and metaphorical phrase goes, half-seas-over." — TJ'averley. The sitting-room was a good-sized apartment with a large fireplace and a low roof, panelled in oak up to the ceiling, and blackened with the smoke of two hundred years, more or less. In one corner stood the piano, and in another a large oak secretaire. Besides these there was but little furniture. The fireplace was flanked by two book-cases, well filled with dilapidated volumes, and over it was a large mirror set in the panel, looking much in want of a good rubbing. Two pairs of boxing gloves, and several foils and fencing-masks hung on the walls, which were besides adorned with a fevt old sporting prints and a number of photographs of ladies looking so conscious of the scantiness of their attire that it would have been the merest affectation in the spectator to ignore it.

Standing on a bracket was a bust of a Great Statesman, who would have looked strangely out of place in such company, but that, to fit him for his surroundings, one of his eyes had been painted in such a manner as to lead to the conclusion that he had been recently engaged in combat witli somebody who knew the use of his hands. A blackened clay pipe stuck into a hole between his plaster lips gave him a rakish and dissolute appearance quite out of keeping with his well-known private character, and on one side of his head was stuck the greasiest and most battered felt hat that ever came out of Whitechapel to a meeting of the great Unemployed. An easel standing in a third corner, and some paint brushes and boxes of water-colours, and other artistic tools, showed that the owner of this retreat was on visiting terms with more than one of the Sacred Nine.