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Meanwhile, Eustace had made his way in a two-penny 'bus to one of those busy courts in the City where Mr. John Short practised as a solicitor. Mr. Short's office was, Eustace discovered by referring to a notice board, on the seventh floor of one of the tallest houses he had ever seen.
"What is the good of your adoring Wharton?" asked the professor. "Short's very good as far as he goes, but the real friend is Codlin, not Short." "I shall hate you if you always make fun of me. What do you mean by your Codlins and Shorts?" "Did you never read Dickens?" cried Strong. "I never read a novel in my life, if that is what you are talking about," answered Catherine. "Ho! Cousin Esther!
Ladies, I have the honour" and the Doctor eked out this sentence by rising. "Oh, thank you, Dr. Short," said Mrs. Dodd, rising within him; "you inspire me with confidence and gratitude. As if under the influence of these feelings only, she took Dr. Short's palm and pressed it.
The child, sitting down with the old man close behind it, had been thinking how strange it was that horses who were such fine honest creatures should seem to make vagabonds of all the men they drew about them, when a loud laugh at some extemporaneous witticism of Mr Short's, having allusion to the circumstances of the day, roused her from her meditation and caused her to look around.
Williams and Tom Trice, by appointment, in the Old Bayly, to Short's, the alehouse, but could come to no terms with T. Trice. Thence to the Wardrobe, where I found my Lady come from Hampton Court, where the Queen hath used her very civilly; and my Lady tells me is a most pretty woman, at which I am glad.
Moreover, publication date was approaching, and at such times we were in the habit of getting later and later in the office, the necessity for Short's assistance rendering it impossible to get the work done in an expeditious and business-like way.
And sore's my sorrow parted long from you, * And short's my arm to reach the prize I see; And mourning grief for what my patience marred * To blamer's eye unveiled my secresy; And waxed strait that whilome was so wide * Patience nor force remains nor power to dree. Would Heaven I knew if God will ever deign to join * Our lives, and from our cark and care and grief set free!"
She bade her go about her ordinary business as if nothing had happened, and Bessie did go about these duties with a quiet practical obedience to law and order which bore out the testimony to her good common-sense. She thought of Mr. John Short's letter, it is true, and once she stood for a minute considering the sketch of Abbotsmead which hung above her chest of drawers.
John Short's manner to the young lady was tinctured with a respectful compassion that did not augur well for her prospects. Bessie paid very little heed to the speculations of which she could not fail to hear something. So long as her grandfather was tolerably kind to her she asked no more from the present, and she left the future to take care of itself.
Hutchinson says that "he was of a benevolent, friendly disposition; at the same time quick and passionate;" and, in illustration of the latter qualities, he relates that he got into a fisticuff fight with the Collector of the Port, on the wharf, handling him severely; and that, having high words, in the street, with a Captain of the Royal Navy, "the Governor made use of his cane and broke Short's head."
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