Punch (88.1885)

118

PUNCH, OR THE

LONDON CHARIVARI.

[March 7, 1885.

U-. _

INTERIORS AND

EXTERIORS. No. 3.


A WELL-KNOWN- CIRCULATING LIBRARY.

PAPEBS EBOM PUMP-HANDLE COUET.

HY FIRST CLIENT.

“Here is something; for you, Sir,” said a sharp-looking youth,
suddenly thrusting into my hand a document.

I quietly put the paper into my pocket without comment (I had no
wish to bandy words with the process-server), and reflected that
some half-forgotten tailor, or too-long-neglectea hatter, was a person
of no real delicacy of feeling.

“ And will you see to the matter at once ? ” continued the sharp-
looking youth, “ as they can’t wait.”

“Certainly,” I replied, with a dignity which I intended should
suggest that I had a perfectly fabulous account at Cotjtts’s. My
account at the celebrated banking firm referred to is perfectly fabulous.

“ All right, Sir. I suppose we shall see you in the morning.”

The youth disappeared, and I journeyed home. As I walked along
the Thames Embankment I pondered over the alterations made in
our law by the Judicature Acts.

‘1 When I was a younger man,” I murmured to myself, ‘ ‘ a copy
of a writ, when considered entirely without prejudice, was rather a
handsome instrument than otherwise. The direct message from the
Sovereign, for instance, used to be very far from ungratifying,
although perhaps it would have been better had the greeting been
joined to a matter a little less embarrassing, say, than an unsatisfied
claim for the value of certain shirts. But nowadays the neat crisp
document of the olden time seems to be abandoned for a far more
bulky paper—for the packet I have in my pocket! ”

However, I threw off my cares, and thought no more of the affair
until the next morning, when, putting on my overcoat, I discovered,

to my intense astonishment, to my overwhelming joy, that what I
had believed to be a writ was actually a Brief! I had to sit down on
the hall-chair for five minutes to compose myself. My emotion was
perfectly painful—it was my first, my Maiden Brief! The news
spread like wildfire through the household, and the distant strains
of “ Ride, Britannia ! ” were heard coming from the nursery.

There was but one thing to be done, and I did it. I hurriedly
collected all the law-books I possess [Sheartcood’s Abridgment of Real
Property, an odd volume of Stephen's Commentaries, and an early
edition of The Comic Blackstone), jumped into a Hansom, and
rattled down to Pump-Handle Court. Arrived there, I handed my
brief to my Clerk (the sharp-looking youth who had given me the
paper turned out to be my Clerk), and instructed him to put it in a
prominent position in his own room, so that my client, when he
arrived, might see it, and conclude that I had so many matters just
then in hand that I had not had as yet time to look into his case,
which was waiting its turn for consideration with numerous others.
I was ashamed to give these instructions, but reflected that it was
important, having regard to my professional prospects, that my
expected visitor should be kept as long as possible in ignorance of
the fact that he was my solitary employer.

“ All right, Sir,” said my Clerk, with a facial gesture which I
regret to say savoured of a wink. “ He will be here by eleven.”

I now entered my own room. It was rather in disorder. I share
my chambers with an intimate friend, and as I am very often away,
he sometimes uses my sanctum (entirely with my consent) as a recep-
tacle for empty packing-cases, old cigar-boxes, superfluous window-
curtains, and worn-out boots. With the assistance of my Clerk,
who followed me in, I soon set things to-rights, putting on the
Month-indicator from October to March, filling the inkstand with