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Updated: June 10, 2025
Its pages make mention of one very dear to us. Phillip Lawson is on the eve of being the dupe of two unprincipled schemers. Hubert Tracy knew well where to look for an accomplice. He possessed money or the means of getting it, and he knew that for the precious dust the high handed and unscrupulous soul of Nicholas Sharpley was his only help.
And there is another on the eve of happiness a rival is to be set aside that other is Hubert Tracy, and the rival is Phillip Lawson. Within a few hours from the time that Mr. Sharpley had made up his mind, there lay on the office desk a letter addressed: W. CLARKE CONNOR, ESQ., Barrister, Portage, La Prarie. Barrister at Portage La Prarie.
If he asked the advice of some older members of the profession, the answer invariably was: "Try it, my boy, if you think you will succeed." So the outcome of it all was that the young man had made up his mind to try it, and, after a long conversation with Hubert Tracy, resolved to inform Mr. Sharpley of his intention at the earliest opportunity.
There is about the man a striking combination of Uriah Heap and Mr. Pecksniff; which, to an honest-minded man, rendered him intolerable. But Nicholas Sharpley had his followers, and thrived and shone bright among the legal luminaries, and was always ready to do the most unprincipled jobs to be met with.
Having arrived at the end of a spacious corridor we stop directly opposite a door bearing a placard the letters are of gilt upon a black ground: N. H. SHARPLEY, Attorney-at-Law, Notary Public, etc. A medium-sized man is seated at the desk busily engaged over a lengthy looking document which he has just received from the young copyist at the further end of the office.
Yes, my friend; barristers at the northermost corner of the earth. Mr. Connor was a man of fifty years or upwards. He had formerly practised in Winnipeg and in his office Nicholas Sharpley first entered as a law student. Doubtless the quick-sighted lawyer saw in the former much in common with his own sordid nature and liked communion with kindred spirits, for Nicholas Sharpley rose high in Mr.
"All right, Ned, you are at liberty for the next hour. Wait: You can in the meantime run up for the ink," said Mr. Sharpley, Attorney-at-Law, in an impatient tone, as though he wished to enjoy the delightful communion of his own thoughts.
Sharpley then directed his interrogations across the sea and much chagrined charged Mr. Tracy with duplicity. But it was the latter who felt the most non-plussed. He cursed Phillip Lawson from the bottom of his heart and hoped that he might live to crush him in the dust. "Fool that I was to listen to his palaver!" cried he, "when I could have contrived some means to silence him most effectually.
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