The Portland daily press. [volume] (Portland, Me.) 1862-1921, 1881-03-21

Touch-and-go With a Great Es-
tate.
London Society I

l.
solicitors in the good old town of Burgham,
which you may place in any county you
please. was born there, and so was my
father before me, and my grandfather before
him: and the name of Key was as well known
as the spire of st. MichaePs. Our office, in
the very shadow OF the spire, consisted of an
outer office for the clerks, of one private
room for my father, of another for myself,
and of a third, in which an articled clerk
sat among the office lumber and amused
himself as well as want of opportunity al
lowed. His name, remember, was what
will call-more for the sake of appro pirate
ness than of anything else-Richard Musty;
and queer young fellow he was-the queer
est, used to think, within 6,000 miles of
Burgham. He was country parsons son,
and of about my own age; so that was
ready and even eager when he first came to
us to make friend and companion of him
out of office hours, so far as my greater pro-
fessional dignity allowed, but it was inn
possible What good or return he expected
10 get out of the premium he had paid US
was a mystery; be had found the money
hard to raise, and he might just as well
have thrown it into the river. He was
steady, too steady by half; he was older
then, young as he was, than l am now.
But he was as fit to be lawyer as l am to
be poet-and l can't say more.
He was always shabby, never too clean,
never did anything wrong, morally, never
anything right, intellectually, and seemed to
have no friends. What he did with his
time, in or out of the Office, neither myself
nor my father was able for weeks to dis
cover.
what, in the name of goodness are you
doing there, Musty?" l remember saying to
him at las, when, impelled by fit of curl
osit-, went one day suddenly into his
room, and caught him with camel s-hair
paint-brush instead of pen in his hand,
with which he seemed to be busily engaged
in washing skin of parchment with pure
water. Have you forgotten that that lease
is to be ready in an hour?" Not that l ex
pected to get the lease from him in month,
but wanted an excuse for my sudden in
trusion.
He turned as red as fire.
''Nothing, nothing at all, Mr.. Key" said
he.
"'Nothing' is the worst thing you can do
here" said l, sternly. was idle enough
myself in those days, but it was in very
different sort of wsy. 81 must know what
you are doing with that old deed.'
''It-it isn't deed, indeed" stammered
he, as if his occupation were criminal in
stead of merely imbecile. "Look here, Mr.,
Key, found it up there on that shelf, and
/ don't imagine it can be of any use to you,"
he went on, with curious emphasis on the
''you;;' if the fellow hadn't been so simply
scared, and so incapable of such thing at
any time, 1 should have suspected sneer.
looked at it and was yet more puzzled,
for it was not deed-it was not a legal doc
ument at all.
'lt is medieval Latin manuscript"
said he. "But it is of no value. So far as 1
have read it appears to be treatise by some
monkish writer concerning the Praises of St.
Willibrord, who was, believe, saint and
bishop of the BenedIctines. What horrible
jargon those miserable monks used to call
Latin, to be sure! Just listen here: Mic
telaninibas ita depauperatus-"
1t might have been Hebrew to me, for
though l had been pretty good in Latin at
the grammar school, the yellow document
in question was written in such a close,
cramped, ancient and illegible hand, and
was so full of authorizations and contrac' ions
to boot that Musty's skill in deciphering a
single word little surprised me.
"Have you got any more of these?" asked
he.
''If there's one," said 1, ''there may be
fifty. l suppose it came here with old Par
son Evans's papers, when he died-the old
rector of st. Michaels, you know-and be-
ing parchment, suppose they looked legal.
Yes, Musty, think you had better devote
your time to reading them and cleaning
them all. ItBeems to me that's about all
you're likely to be fit for here. Never
mind the lease" l said, with what took
for fine sarcasm. sect ON with St. Will
brord, as you seem so fond of that STYLE"
"Stylep' cried he, forgetting all his shy
ness, and bringing his fist down upon the Ia
BILE with an angry bang. 'Call that style?
And to think that those inestimable lost
books of Livy may be hidden from the light
by trash and rubbish about some wretched
ST. Willibrord-that they may even be here,
under my very hand! All! if such a tri-
umph as that were for me-if, like Cardinal
Mai, who gave Cicero's Republic to the
world-but l believe such things are not
much in your line, Mr.. Key.''
So that was Dick Musty's craze. Well, if
he liked to waste his time in grubbing under
old Latin sermons in the hope of discovering
the lost books or Livy, the craze did nobody
not fit for lawyer. told my father the
story, thinking it good joke; but the old
gentleman, though the most good-natured
man alive, took the matter very differently
from what expected. He started up and
went straight into Dicks room.
''Mr. Thomas''-he always called me Mr.
Thomas in the 0ice-'Mr. Thomas tells me,
young gentleman" he broke out, s'that you
are reading Latin sermons instead of study
ing your profession-you, poor man, who
will have to earn your own daily bread with
brains, of which you haven't an ounce to
spare. You're not wasting my time, but
you gave me premium to see that you did
not waste your own. And as duty's duty.
I'll see that you don't. Old Latin sermons
they're no use here. Give that rubbish to
me. Phi lock it up in my desk, and if find
out that it's nothing but what you say, Pll
get rid of it for waste parchment; 1 won't
have such stuff and rubbish numbering about
here. Here, give it to me without another
word. 1t shan't be my fault if you chose to
waste your time"
Dick Musty sighed-he even turned pale
But there was no arguing with my father.
The old sermon such it was and nothing
more-was duly locked up in my fathers
desk, and there that matter ended. And I
think it proves pretty clearly that Richard
Musty was very odd sort of an articled
clerk indeed. However, it seemed to show
that his brain, if added and mudded by
useless studies, was not quite so hopelessly
absent as l had hitherto believed.
Ihad not been back at my own work half
an hour when my father came into my
room looking pale and unwell.
"Tom," he said, 81 had bad headache
when got up this morning; and instead of
getting better it's been getting worse and
worse all day. Pm afraid it made me over
irritable just now when you told me about
that young nincompoop of Musty, and l
don't feel like myself at all. 1 shall go
home and lie down, for my heads just split
ting. There'll be nothing to-day you can't
attend to; shall be all right tomorrow I
daresay."
was almost painfully nervous about that
first day, which was nearly as new feeling
to me as a headache to my father. hoped
that nobody would call. And therefore
need / say it'll had scarcely opened the
last of the Office letters before somebody did
Gala Mr.. Horace Jones. The name meant
nothing to me, for though Miss Jones of the
Brambles was good client of ours, still she
had no relative named Horace, and the sur
name was, in reality, an exceedingly COM
mon one.
Enter Mr.. Horace Jones, however; and
didn't like the looks of him. Not being a
professional story-teller, whatever may be
said of us lawyers to the contrary, will not
try to describe him otherwise than by say
ing that / knew him to be a cad and black
guard as soon as l set eyes on him.
"Who are you, sir?" he asked, roughly
81 called to see old Mr.. Key"
IF you mean my father,'' said I, in as
dignifed manner as could, II am sorry
to say he is very unwell, and may not be
ahla n laaua hic Co. -