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Mere fortune led me at four that afternoon into Bedford Row. A note had been put into my hands at the Record Office inviting me to call upon a client whose chambers were in that quarter, and I complied with it directly my work was over. Now as I walked along the Row, the boy of that morning's encounter was going into the entry of the house in which Fowkes and Vizards have their offices.
He was, let me say for I withhold his real name George Lumley Fowkes, of Fowkes, Vizard and Fowkes, respectable head of a more than respectable firm; and here he was, with his hat pushed back from his dewy forehead, tip-toeing, protesting, extenuating to a slip of a lad in uniform.
They stopped at the gateway which admits you to Bedford Row to finish their colloquy. The halt was made by Fowkes, barely acquiesced in by his companion. Poor old Fowkes, what with his asthma, the mopping of his head, the flacking of his long fingers, exhibited signals of the highest distress.
Tom Fowkes says she's bin two or three times to drink tea at Farmer Gray's now, could it be she's thinking to marry him? And Mrs. Rusk sat down and laughed heartily, ending with a crow of derision. 'To think of a young fellow like that, and his wife, poor thing, not dead a year maybe she's got money? 'I don't know I don't care perhaps, Mrs. Rusk, you mistook Madame.
He went his leisurely way and I watched him, this time, almost out of sight. But while I stood so, watching, old Fowkes came bursting out of his office, tears streaming down his face, the telegram in his hand. "Where is he? Where is he?" This was addressed to me. I pointed the way. The lad turned round, saw him coming, waved him away, and then disappeared.
There was no mistaking him whom all those people so eagerly awaited; he was my former wonder of Gray's Inn, the saviour of old Mr. Fowkes. But all my former wonder paled before this my latter. For he stood here like some young Eastern king among his slaves, one hand on his hip, the other at his chin, his face expressionless, his eyes fixed but unblinking.
Again he had done it; but old Fowkes, in no way surprised, stood rooted to the pavement with his hands extended so far toward the mystery that I could see two or three inches of bony old wrist beyond his shirt-cuffs. After a while he turned and slowly came back to his chambers. He seemed now not to see me; or he was careless whether I saw him or not.
While I was wondering how long he was going to put up with it, presently he jerked his head back and showed Fowkes, by the look he gave him, that he had had enough of him. The old lawyer knew it for final, for he straightened his back, then his hat, touched the brim and made a formal bow.
FOWKES replied in the manner following: Sir, to treat with contempt those arguments which cannot readily be answered, is the common practice of disputants; but as it is contrary to that candour and ingenuity which is inseparable from zeal for justice and love of truth, it always raises a suspicion of private views, and of designs, which, however they may be concealed by specious appearances, and vehement professions of integrity and sincerity, tend in reality to the promotion of some secret interest, or the gratification of some darling passion.
James Stephens, Job Stanley Carpenters. Edward Wilson Blacksmith. George Fowkes Shoemaker. John Douglas Barometer-carrier. Isaac Reid Sailor and chainman. Andrew Higgs Chainman. William Hunter, Thomas Smith With the horses. Patrick Travers Carter and pioneer, Douglas Arnott Shepherd and butcher. Arthur Bristol Sailmaker and Sailor. The rest consisted of gelatine, and a small quantity of pork.
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