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Updated: June 8, 2025
"Any other legacy to Lady Northlake would have been simply absurd. Yes, Mr. Mool? Perhaps my name follows?" Mr. Mool cast a side-look at the ferns. He afterwards described his sensations as reminding him of previous experience in a dentist's chair, at the awful moment when the operator says "Let me look," and has his devilish instrument hidden in his hand.
The guests were Lord and Lady Northlake; Maria and Zo; Miss Minerva and Mr. Mool. Mr. Gallilee was present as one of the household. While he was in London, he and his children lived under Ovid's roof. When they went to Scotland, Mr. He and Zo drank too much champagne at dinner. The father made a speech; and the daughter sang, "We're gayly yet."
"Pray don't let me detain you, sir; I will wait with pleasure." If she had been twenty years younger the hint might have been thrown away. As it was, Lemuel retired. An unusually long day's work at the office had fatigued good Mr. Mool. He pushed aside his papers, and let his weary eyes rest on a glass vase full of flowers on the table a present from a grateful client.
"The first legacy mentioned in the Will," said Mr. Mool, "is a legacy to Lady Northlake." Mrs. Gallilee's face turned as hard as iron. "One hundred pounds," Mr. Mool continued, "to buy a mourning ring." Mrs. Gallilee's eyes became eloquent in an instant, and said as if in words, "Thank Heaven!" "So like your uncle's unpretending good sense," she remarked to her son.
"And to defray these and other expenses, the Trustees are authorized to place at your disposal one thousand a year." "Too much! too much!" Mr. Mool might have agreed with her if he had nor known that Robert Graywell had thought of his sister's interests, in making this excessive provision for expenses incurred on his daughter's account. "Perhaps, her dresses and her pocket money are included?"
In one respect, Ovid resembled his late uncle. They both belonged to that high-minded order of men, who are slow to suspect, and therefore easy to deceive. Ovid tenderly took his mother's hand. "I ought to have known it," he said, "without obliging you to tell me." Mrs. Gallilee did not blush. Mr. Mool did. "Go on!" Mrs. Gallilee repeated. Mr. Mool looked at Ovid. "The next name, Mr.
Tell me in two words, if you please am I right or wrong?" "I can do it in one word, Mrs. Gallilee. Wrong." "What!" Mr. Mool entered on the necessary explanation, triumphing in the reply that he had just made. "It's the smartest thing," he thought, "I ever said in my life."
Mool explained; "and I have had a nice walk from my house to yours. If I have done wrong, sir, in visiting you on Sunday, I can only plead that I am engaged in business during the week " "All right. One day's the same as another, provided you don't interrupt me. You don't interrupt me now. Do you smoke?" "No, thank you." "Do you mind my smoking?" "I like it, doctor."
Mr. Mool had made a mistake in his choice of a profession. The result of the mistake was a shy lawyer. Attended by such circumstances as these, the history of the family assumes, for the moment, a certain importance. It is connected with a blushing attorney. It will explain what happened on the reading of the Will. And it is sure beforehand of a favourable reception for it is all about money.
"Very amiable on your part, I'm sure. What did you say your name was?" "Mool." Benjulia looked at him suspiciously. Was he a physiologist, and a rival? "You're not a doctor are you?" he said. "I am a lawyer." One of the few popular prejudices which Benjulia shared with his inferior fellow-creatures was the prejudice against lawyers.
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