Geoffrey Hampstead: A Novel, Page 3

  CHAPTER III.

  Frien'ship maks us a' mair happy, Frien'ship gies us a' delight; Frien'ship consecrates the drappie, Frien'ship brings us here to-night.

  ROBERT BURNS.

  At the opening of this story, about six months had elapsed since Rankinhad been licensed to prey upon the public, and as yet he had notdespoiled it to any great extent. If he had kept body and soul together,it was done in ways that are not enticing to young gentlemen who dreamof attacking the law single-handed.

  An old lawyer named Bean had an office in the lower part of TremaineBuildings, and Maurice arranged with him to occupy one of the ancientdesks in his office, and, in consideration of answering all questions asto the whereabouts of Mr. Bean, the privilege of office-room was givento him rent-free. As Mr. Bean had no clients, and as Rankin never knewwhere he was, this duty was a light one. He also had from Mr. Bean theprivilege of putting his name up on the door, and, of course, asfrequently and as alluringly along the passage and on the stairs as hemight think desirable. But it was set out very clearly in the agreement,which Rankin carefully drew up and Bean pretended to revise, that Mr.Rankin should not in any way interfere with the clients of Mr. Bean, andthat Mr. Bean should not in any way interfere with the clients of theaforesaid Rankin.

  Bean had a little money, which he seemed to spend exclusively in theconsumption of mixed drinks; and whatever else he did during the day,besides expending his income in this way, certainly engrossed hisattention to a very large extent. When he looked into the office daily,or, say, bi-weekly, it was only for a few moments--except when he fellasleep in his chair.

  It was after he had been five or six months with Mr. Bean that GeoffreyHampstead had asked Rankin to dinner. He locked up the office about fiveo'clock, having closed the dampers in the stove (Bean supplied thecoal--a great relief) and putting the key in his pocket, he ascended toNo. 173 for a while, and then he came down to Hampstead's chambers,where he found our two bank friends taking a glass of sherry and bittersto give their appetites a tone, which was a very unnecessary proceeding.

  "Hello, old man! How are you?" cried Hampstead in a hearty voice,handing him a wine glass.

  "Ah! How am I? Just so!" quoth Rankin, helping himself. "How should aman be, who is on the high road to fortune?"

  "He ought to be pretty chirpy, I should think," said Jack.

  "Chirpy! That's the word. 'Chirpy' describes me. So does 'fit.' Themoney is rolling in, gentlemen. Business is on the full upward boom, andI feel particularly 'fit' to-day--also chirpy."

  "Got a partnership?" inquired Geoffrey, with interest.

  "I suppose you mean a partnership with Mr. Bean, and I answeremphatically 'No.' I refer to _my own_ business, sir, and I have nointention of taking Mr. Bean into partnership. Bean is dying for apartnership with me. Sha'n't take Bean in. A client of mine came into-day--"

  "Great Scott! you haven't got a client, have you?" cried Geoffrey,starting from his chair.

  "Don't interrupt me," said Mr. Rankin. "As I was saying," he added withcomposure, "a client of mine--"

  "No, no, Morry! This is too much. If you want us to believe you, give ussome particulars about this client--just as an evidence of good faith,you know."

  "The client you are so inquisitive about," said Rankin, with dignity,"is a lady who has been, in a sense, prematurely widowed--"

  "It's Mrs. Priest," said Jack, turning to Geoffrey. "He has beendefending her for stealing coal, sure as you're born!"

  "The lady came to me," said Maurice, taking no notice of theinterruption, "about a month ago, apparently with a view to takingproceedings for alimony--at least her statement suggested this--"

  "By Jove, this is getting interesting!" said Jack.

  "But on questioning the unfortunate woman as to her means, I found thather funds were in a painfully low condition--in fact, at a disgustinglylow ebb, viewed from a professional standpoint. And I also found thather husband had offered her four dollars a week, to be paid weekly, oncondition that he should never see her and that somebody else shouldcollect the money. The husband was evidently a bold, bad man to havegiven rise to the outbursts of jealously which it pained me to listento, and the poor lady, forgetful of my presence, and with all theability of an ancient prophet, denounced two or three women both jointlyand severally. She then roused herself, and asked what I would charge tocollect her four dollars per week. This seemed to decide the alimonysuit in the negative, and from the fact that she was, not to put toofine a point upon it, three parts drunk at the time, I thought it betterto say what I would do. So now I collect four dollars a week from herhusband and pay it over to her every Saturday, for which I deduct, eachtime, the sum of twenty-five cents. There is a good deal of money to bemade in the practice of the law."

  "What about the husband?" asked Jack, laughing.

  "I believe that I was invited to-day to dine--at least I came with thatintention. Instead of talking any more, I would be better satisfied ifsomebody produced so much as the photograph of a chicken--and after thatI will further to you unfold my tale."

  Mr. Rankin slapped a waistcoat that appeared to be unduly slack aboutthe lower buttons.

  They then repaired to the club, where, having but a small appetitehimself, and the representatives of bank distinguishing themselves morethan he could as trenchermen, Rankin kept the ball rolling by relatinghis experiences as a barrister, which seemed to amuse his two friends.These experiences, leading to police-court items and police-courtsavages, brought up the question of "What is a savage?"--whichintroduced the Fuegians, the wild natives of Queensland, the Mayalans,and others, with whom Hampstead compared the lowest-class Irish. He hadprofited by much travel and reading, and anthropology was a subject onwhich he could be rather brilliant. To show how our civilization is amere veneer, he drew a comparison between savage and civilized fashions,and brought out facts culled from many different peoples--not omittingSchweinfurth's Monbuttoo women--as to the primitive nature of thedress-improver. Then, somehow, the conversation got back to the policecourt, and the question, "What is a criminal?" and they agreed that ifthe harm done to others was one criterion of guilt, it seemed a pitythat some things--woman's gossip, for instance--went so frequentlyunpunished.

  "And I think," broke in Cresswell, after the subject had been wellthrashed, "that you two fellows are talking a good deal of what you knowvery little about. After all your chatter, I think the point is righthere (and I put it in the old-fashioned way). If one does wrong heviolates his own appreciation of right, and his guilt can only bemeasured by the way he tramples on his conscience, and as consciencevaries in almost every person, I think we had better give up wading intoabstractions and come down to the concrete--to the solid enjoyment of apipe." And Jack pushed back his chair.

  "Then, according to you, Jack, a fellow with no conscience would inhuman judgment have no guilt," laughed Hampstead.

  "I don't believe there exists a sane man in the world without aconscience," replied Jack, with his own optimism.

  "I don't think I agree with you," said Rankin. "I feel sure there aremen who, if they ever had a conscience, have trained it into suchelasticity that they may be said to have none. Do you not think so,Hampstead?"

  "Really, I hardly know. I haven't thought much upon the subject, but Ithink we ought, if we do possess any conscience ourselves, to give Jacka chance to light his pipe."

  They soon sauntered back to the Tremaine Buildings, where Jack sat downat the piano and played to them. While Jack played on, Geoffrey seemedinterested in police-court items, but Rankin preferred listening toBeethoven and Mozart to "talking shop." After they had sung somesea-songs together and chatted over a glass of "something short," Rankinsaid good-night and mounted to No. 173 on the invisible stairs with asmuch activity as if daylight were assisting him.

  Having lit his lamp, he soliloquized, as he attended to some faults inhis complexion before a small looking-glass, "So I have got anotherclient, I perceive. That dinner to-day was a fee--nothi
ng else in theworld. I don't know now that I altogether like my new client. Heevidently didn't get what he wanted. Perhaps Jack was in the way. Now, Iwonder what the beggar _does_ want. Chances are I'll have another dinnersoon. Happy thought! make him keep on dining me _ad infinitum_!Ornamental dinner! Pleasant change!"

  Maurice undressed and walked up and down the room. "Perhaps I am allwrong, though," said he. "I can't help liking him in many ways, and he'schock-full of interesting information. How odd that he didn't knowanything about a fellow having no conscience. Hadn't thought over thatidea. Very likely! Gad! I could imagine him just such a one, now that Ihave got suspicious. He has a bad eye when he doesn't look after it. Itdoesn't always smile along with his mouth. I may be wrong, but I believethere's something there that's not the clean wheat," and Mauriceascended to the woolsack and disappeared for the night.