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The will was formally signed, sealed, delivered, and witnessed, and was carried off by Mr. Bintrey for safe storage among the papers of his clients, ranged in their respective iron boxes, with their respective owners' names outside, on iron tiers in his consulting-room, as if that legal sanctuary were a condensed Family Vault of Clients.
Maitre Voigt was looking towards a closed door, painted brown to imitate mahogany, and communicating with an inner room. "Isn't it time he was here?" asked the notary, shifting his position, and glancing at a second door at the other end of the room, painted yellow to imitate deal. "He is here," answered Bintrey, after listening for a moment.
"I owe it to myself," he said "I don't admit, mind, that I owe it to you to account for my appearance in these proceedings, and to state what has been done under my advice, and on my sole responsibility. Can you listen to me?" "I can listen to you." "Recall the time when you started for Switzerland with Mr. Vendale," Bintrey begin.
You see, Mr. Bintrey, I was not used in my childhood to that sort of individual existence which most individuals have led, more or less, in their childhood. After that time I became absorbed in my late dear mother. Having lost her, I find that I am more fit for being one of a body than one by myself one.
Wilding, in a glow, "hopeful, useful, delightful!" "Do you know," hinted the lawyer again, "I really would not ex " "I am not going to. Then there's Handel." "There's who?" asked Bintrey. "Handel, Mozart, Haydn, Kent, Purcell, Doctor Arne, Greene, Mendelssohn. I know the choruses to those anthems by heart. Foundling Chapel Collection. Why shouldn't we learn them together?"
"I consent," said Bintrey, not so readily. "Thank you both. Mr. Bintrey, my instructions for my last will and testament are short and plain. Perhaps you will now have the goodness to take them down.
"It only remains," said the lawyer, with one shrug of his shoulders, "to get them into technical and binding form, and to execute and attest. Now, does that press? Is there any hurry about it? You are not going to die yet, sir." "Mr. Bintrey," answered Wilding, gravely, "when I am going to die is within other knowledge than yours or mine.
An amused twinkle in his eyes pretty plainly added "A devilish deal better than you ever will!" "'Honour," said Mr. Wilding, sobbing as he quoted from the Commandments, "'thy father and thy mother, that thy days may be long in the land. When I was in the Foundling, Mr. Bintrey, I was at such a loss how to do it, that I apprehended my days would be short in the land.
And yet, in spite of his care for his client, he was so amused by his client's Quixotic conduct, as to eye him from time to time with twinkling eyes, in the light of a highly comical curiosity. "Nothing," observed Wilding, "can be clearer. I only wish my head were as clear as yours, Mr. Bintrey." "If you feel that singing in it coming on," hinted the lawyer, with an alarmed glance, "put it off.
It is little over half a year since she came into the Corner to read on that door-post with her own eyes, WILDING AND CO., WINE MERCHANTS. And yet she is no more!" "Sad. But the common lot, Mr. Wilding," observed Bintrey. "At some time or other we must all be no more." He placed the forty-five year old port- wine in the universal condition, with a relishing sigh. "So now, Mr.
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