Mr. Meeson’s Will by H. Rider Haggard (page 3)

side-streets opening out of the Strand, and went through the form of eating some dinner; after which a terrible fit of restlessness got possession of him, and he started out walking. For three solid hours did that young man walk, which was, no doubt, a good thing for him, for one never gets enough exercise in London; and at the end of that time, having already been to Hammersmith and back, he found himself gravitating towards Hanover-square. Once there, he had little difficulty in finding the number. There was a light in the drawing-room floor, and, the night being warm, one of the windows was open, so that the lamp-light shone softly through the lace curtains. Eustace crossed over to the other side of the street, and, leaning against the iron railings of the square, looked up. He was rewarded for his pains, for, through the filmy curtain, he could make out the forms of two ladies, seated side by side upon an ottoman, with their faces towards the window, and in one of these he had no difficulty in recognising Augusta. Her head was leaning on her hand, and she was talking earnestly to her companion. He wondered what she was talking of, and had half a mind to go and ring, and ask to see her. Why should he wait till to-morrow morning? Presently, however, better counsels prevailed, and, though sorely against his will, he stopped where he was till a policeman, thinking his rapt gaze suspicious, gruffly requested him to move on.

To gaze at one’s only love through an open window is, no doubt, a delightful occupation, if a somewhat tantalising one; but if Eustace’s ears had been as good as his eyes, and he could have heard the conversation that was proceeding in the drawing-room, he would have been still more interested.

Augusta had just been unfolding that part of her story which dealt with the important document tattooed upon her shoulders, to which Lady Holmhurst had listened “ore rotundo.”

“And so the young man is coming here to-morrow morning,” said Lady Holmhurst; “how delightful! I am sure he looked a very nice young man, and he had very fine eyes. It is the most romantic thing that I ever heard of.”

“It may be delightful for you, Bessie,” said Augusta, rather tartly, “but I call it disgusting. It is all very well to be tattooed upon a desert island–not that that was very nice, I can tell you; but it is quite another thing to have to show the results in a London drawing-room. Of course, Mr. Meeson will want to see this will, whatever it may be worth; and I should like to ask you, Bessie, how I am to show it to him? It is on my neck.”

“I have not observed,” said Lady Holmhurst, drily, “that ladies, as a rule, have an insuperable objection to showing their necks. If you have any doubt on the point, I recommend you to get an invitation to a London ball. All you will have to do will be to wear a low dress. The fact of being tattooed does not make it any more improper for you to show your shoulders, than it would be if they were not tattooed.”

“I have never worn a low dress,” said Augusta, “and I do not want to show my shoulders.”

“Ah, well,” said Lady Holmhurst, darkly; “I daresay that that feeling will soon wear off. But, of course, if you won’t, you won’t; and, under those circumstances, you had better say nothing about the will–though,” she added learnedly, “of course that would be compounding a felony.”

“Would it? I don’t quite see where the felony comes in.”

“Well, of course, it is this way: you steal the will–that’s felony; and if you don’t show it to him, I suppose you compound it; it is a double offence–compound felony.”

“Nonsense!” answered Augusta to this exposition of the law, which was, it will be admitted, almost as lucid and convincing as that of an average Q.C. “How can I steal my own shoulders? It is impossible.”

“Oh, no; not at all. You don’t know what funny things you can do. I once had a cousin whom I coached for his examination for the Bar, and I learnt a great deal about it then. Poor fellow! he was plucked eight times.”

“I am sure I don’t wonder at it,” said Augusta, rudely. “Well, I suppose I must put on this low dress; but it is horrid–perfectly horrid! You will have to lend me one, that is all.”

“My dear,” answered Lady Holmhurst, with a glance at her widow’s weeds. “I have no low dresses: though, perhaps, I can find some among the things I put away before we sailed,” and her eyes filled with tears.

Augusta took her hand, and they began to talk of that great bereavement and of their own wonderful survival, till at last she led the conversation round to little Dick, and Bessie Holmhurst smiled again at the thought that her darling boy, her only child, was safe asleep up stairs, and not, as she had believed, washing to and fro at the bottom of the ocean. She took Augusta’s hand and kissed it, and blessed her for having saved her child, till suddenly, somewhat to the relief of the latter, the butler opened the door and said that two gentlemen wanted very particularly to speak to Miss Smithers. And then she was once more handed over to her old enemies, the interviewers; and after them came the representatives of the company, and then more special reporters, and then an artist from one of the illustrated papers, who insisted upon her giving him an appointment in language that, though polite, indicated that he meant to have his way; and so on till nearly midnight, when she rushed off to bed and locked her door.

Next morning Augusta appeared at breakfast dressed in an exceedingly becoming low dress, which Lady Holmhurst sent up to her with her hot water. She had never worn one before, and it certainly is trying to put on a low dress for the first time in full daylight–indeed, she felt as guilty as does a person of temperate habits when he is persuaded to drink a brandy and soda before getting up. However, there was no help for it; so, throwing a shawl over her shoulders, she descended.

“My dear, do let me see,” said Lady Holmhurst, as soon as the servant had left the room.

With a sigh Augusta uncovered her shoulders, and her friend ran round the table to look at them. There, on her neck, was the will. The cuttle ink had proved an excellent medium, and the tattooing was as fresh as the day on which it had been done, and would, no doubt, remain so till the last hour of her life.

“Well,” said Lady Holmhurst, “I hope the young man will be duly grateful. I should have to be very much in love,” and she looked meaningly at Augusta, “before I would spoil myself in that fashion for any man.”

Augusta blushed at the insinuation, and said nothing. At ten o’clock, just as they were half through breakfast, there came a ring at the bell.

“Here he is,” said Lady Holmhurst, clapping her hands. “Well, if this isn’t the very funniest thing that I ever heard of! I told Jones to show him in here.”

Hardly were the words out of her mouth when the butler, who looked as solemn as a mute in his deep mourning, opened the door and announced “Mr. Eustace Meeson,” in those deep and commanding tones which flunkeys, and flunkeys alone, have at their command. There was a moment’s pause. Augusta half rose from her chair, and then sat down again; and, noticing her embarrassment, Lady Holmhurst smiled maliciously. Then came in Eustace himself, looking rather handsome, exceedingly nervous, and beautifully got up–in a frock-coat, with a flower in it.

“Oh! how do you do?” he said to Augusta, holding out his hand, which she took rather coldly.

“How do you do, Mr. Meeson,” she answered. “Let me introduce you to Lady Holmhurst. Mr. Meeson, Lady Holmhurst.” Eustace bowed, and put his hat down on the butter-dish, for he was very much overcome.

“I hope that I have not come too early,” he said in great confusion, as he perceived his mistake. “I thought that you would have done breakfast.”

“Oh, not at all Mr. Meeson,” said Lady Holmhurst. “Won’t you have a cup of tea? Augusta, give Mr. Meeson a cup of tea.”

He took the tea, which he did not want in the least, and then there came an awkward silence. Nobody seemed to know how to begin the conversation.

“How did you find the house, Mr. Meeson?” said Lady Holmhurst, at last. “Miss Smithers gave you no address, and there are two Lady Holmhursts–my mother-in-law and myself.”

“Oh, I looked it out, and then I walked here last night and saw you both sitting at the window.”

“Indeed!” said Lady Holmhurst. “And why did you not come in? You might have helped to protect Miss Smithers from the reporters.”

“I don’t know,” he answered confusedly. “I did not like to; and, besides, a policeman thought I was a suspicious character and told me to move on.”

“Dear me, Mr. Meeson; you must have been having a good look at us.”

Here Augusta interposed, fearing least her admirer–for with an unerring instinct, she now guessed how matters stood–should say something foolish. A young man who is capable of standing to stare at a house in Hanover-square is, she thought, evidently capable of anything.

“I was surprised to see you yesterday,” she said. “How did you know we were coming?”

Eustace told her that he had seen it in the _Globe_. “I am sure you cannot have been so surprised as I was,” he went on, “I had made sure that you were drowned. I went up to Birmingham to call on you after you had gone, and found that you had vanished and left no address. The maid-servant declared that you had sailed in a ship called the ‘Conger Eel’–which I afterwards found out was Kangaroo. And then she went down; and after a long time they published a full list of the passengers and your name was not among them, and I thought that after all you might have got off the ship or something. Then, some days afterwards, came a telegram from Albany, in Australia, giving the names of Lady Holmhurst and the others who were saved, and specially mentioning ‘Miss Smithers–the novelist’ and Lord Holmhurst as being among the drowned, and that is how the dreadful suspense came to an end. It was awful, I can tell you.”

Both of the young women looked at Eustace’s face and saw that there was no mistaking the real nature of the trial through which he had passed. So real was it, that it never seemed to occur to him that there was anything unusual in his expressing such intense interest in the affairs of a young lady with whom he was outwardly, at any rate, on the terms of merest acquaintance.

“It was very kind of you to think so much about me,” said Augusta, gently. “I had no idea that you would call again, or I would have left word where I was going.”

“Well, thank God you are safe and sound, at any rate,” answered Eustace; and then, with a sudden burst of anxiety, “you are not going back to New Zealand just yet, are you?”

“I don’t know. I am rather sick of the sea just now.”

“No, indeed, she is not,” said Lady Holmhurst; “she is going to stop with me and Dick. Miss Smithers saved Dick’s life, you know, when the nurse, poor thing, had run away. And now, dear, you had better tell Mr. Meeson about the will.”

“The will. What will?” asked Eustace.

“Listen, and you will hear.”

And Eustace did listen with open eyes and ears while Augusta, getting over her shyness as best she might, told the whole story of his uncle’s death, and of the way in which he had communicated his testamentary wishes.

“And do you mean to tell me,” said Eustace, astounded, “that you allowed him to have his confounded will tattooed upon your neck?”

“Yes,” answered Augusta, “I did; and what is more, Mr. Meeson, I think that you ought to be very much obliged to me; for I daresay that I shall often be sorry for it.”

“I am _very_ much obliged,” answered Eustace; “I had no right to expect such a thing, and, in short, I do not know what to say. I should never have thought that any woman was capable of such a sacrifice for–for a comparative stranger.”

Then came another awkward pause.

“Well, Mr. Meeson,” said Augusta, at last rising brusquely from her chair, “the document belongs to you, and so I suppose that you had better see it. Not that I think that it will be of much use to you, however, as I see that ‘probate had been allowed to issue,’ whatever that may mean, of Mr. Meeson’s other will.”

“I do not know that that will matter,” said Eustace, “as I heard a friend of mine, Mr. Short, who is a barrister, talk about some case the other day in which probate was revoked on the production of a subsequent will.”

“Indeed!” answered Augusta, “I am very glad to hear that. Then, perhaps, after all I have been tattooed to some purpose. Well; I suppose you had better see it,” and with a gesture that was half shy and half defiant she drew the lace shawl from her shoulders, and turned her back towards him so that he might see what was inscribed across it.

Eustace stared at the broad line of letters which with the signatures written underneath might mean a matter of two millions of money to him.

“Thank you,” he said at last, and, taking up the lace shawl, he threw it over her again.

“If you will excuse me for a few minutes, Mr. Meeson,” interrupted Lady Holmhurst at this point; “I have to go to see about the dinner,” and before Augusta could interfere she had left the room.

Eustace closed the door behind her, and turned, feeling instinctively that a great crisis in his fortunes had come. There are some men who rise to an emergency and some who shrink from it, and the difference is, that difference between him who succeeds and him who fails in life, and in all that makes life worth living.

Eustace belonged to the class that rises and not to that which shrinks.

CHAPTER XV.

EUSTACE CONSULTS A LAWYER.

Augusta was leaning against the marble mantelpiece–indeed, one of her arms was resting upon it, for she was a tall woman. Perhaps she, too, felt that there was something in the air; at any rate, she turned away her head, and began to play with a bronze Japanese lobster which adorned the mantelpiece.

“Now for it,” said Eustace to himself, drawing a long breath, to try and steady the violent pulsations of his heart.

“I don’t know what to say to you Miss Smithers,” he began.

“Best say nothing more about it,” she put in quickly. “I did it, and I am glad that I did it. What do a few marks matter if a great wrong is prevented thereby? I am not ever likely to have to go to court. Besides, Mr. Meeson, there is another thing; it was through me that you lost your inheritance; it is only right that I should try to be the means of bringing it back to you.”

She dropped her head again, and once more began to play with the bronze lobster, holding her arm in such a fashion that Eustace could not see her face. But if he could not see her face she could see his in the glass, and narrowly observed its every change, which, on the whole, though natural, was rather mean of her.

Poor Eustace grew pale and paler yet, till his handsome countenance became positively ghastly. It is wonderful how frightened young men are the first time that they propose. It wears off afterwards–with practice one gets accustomed to anything.

“Miss Smithers–Augusta,” he gasped, “I want to say something to you!” and he stopped dead.

“Yes, Mr. Meeson,” she answered cheerfully, “what is it?”

“I want to tell you”–and again he hesitated.

“What you are going to do about the will?” suggested Augusta.

“No–no; nothing about the will–please don’t laugh at me and put me off!”

She looked up innocently–as much as to say that she never dreamed of doing either of these things. She had a lovely face, and the glance of the grey eyes quite broke down the barrier of his fears.

“Oh, Augusta, Augusta,” he said, “don’t you understand? I love you! I love you! No woman was ever loved before as I love you. I fell in love with you the very first time I saw you in the office at Meeson’s, when I had the row with my uncle about you; and ever since then I have got deeper and deeper in love with you. When I thought that you were drowned it nearly broke my heart, and often and often I wished that I were dead, too!”

It was Augusta’s turn to be disturbed now, for, though a lady’s composure will stand her in good stead up to the very verge of an affair of this sort, it generally breaks down _in medias res_. Anyhow, she certainly dropped her eyes and colored to her hair, while her breast began to heave tumultuously.

“Do you know, Mr. Meeson,” she said at last, without daring to look at his imploring face, “that this is only the fourth time that we have seen each other, including yesterday.”

“Yes, I know,” he said; “but don’t refuse me on that, account; you can see me as often as you like”–(this was generous of Master Eustace)–“and really I know you better than you think. I should think that I have read each of your books twenty times.”

This was a happy stroke, for, however free from vanity a person may be, it is not in the nature of a young woman to hear that somebody has read her book twenty times’ without being pleased.

“I am not my books,” said Augusta.

“No; but your books are part of you,” he answered, “and I have learnt more about your real self through them than I should have done if I had seen you a hundred times instead of four.”

Augusta slowly raised her grey eyes till they met his own, and looked at him as though she were searching out his soul, and the memory of that long, sweet look is with him yet.

He said no more, nor had she any words; but somehow nearer and nearer they drew one to the other, till his arms where around her, and his lips were pressed upon her lips. Happy man and happy girl! they will live to find that life has joys (for those who are good and are well off) but that it has no joys so holy and so complete as that which they were now experiencing–the first kiss of true and honest love.

A little while afterwards the butler came in in a horribly sudden manner, and found Augusta and Eustace, the one very red and the other very pale, standing suspiciously close to each other. But he was a very well-trained butler and a man of experience, who had seen much and guessed more; and he looked innocent as a babe unborn.

Just then, too, Lady Holmhurst came in again and looked at the pair of them with an amusing twinkle in her eye. Lady Holmhurst, like her butler, was also a person of experience.

“Won’t you come into the drawing room?” she said. And they did, looking rather sheepish.

And there Eustace made a clean breast of it, announcing that they were engaged to be married. And although this was somewhat of an assumption, seeing that no actual words of troth had passed between them, Augusta stood there, never offering a word in contradiction.

“Well, Mr. Meeson,” said Lady Holmhurst, “I think that you are the luckiest man of my acquaintance, for Augusta is not only one of the sweetest and loveliest girls that I have ever met, she is also the bravest and the cleverest. You will have to look out, Mr. Meeson, or you will be known as the husband of the great Augusta Meeson.”

“I will take the risk,” he answered humbly. “I know that Augusta has more brains in her little finger than I have in my whole body. I don’t know how she can look at a fellow like me.”

“Dear me, how humble we are!” said Lady Holmhurst. “Well, that is the way of men before marriage. And now, as Augusta carries both your fortunes on her back as well as in her face and brain, I venture to suggest that you had better go and see a lawyer about the matter; that is, if you have quite finished your little talk. I suppose that you will come and dine with us, Mr. Meeson, and if you like to come a little early, say half-past six, I daresay that Augusta will arrange to be in, to hear what you have found out about this will, you know. And now–an revoir.”

“I think that that is a very nice young man, my dear,” said Lady Holmhurst as soon as Eustace had bowed himself out. “It was rather audacious of him to propose to you the fourth time that he set eyes upon you; but I think that audacity is, on the whole, a good quality in the male sex. Another thing is, that if that will is worth anything he will be one of the wealthiest men in the whole of England; so, taking it altogether, I think I may congratulate you, my dear. And now I suppose that you have been in love with this young man all along. I guessed as much when I saw your face as he ran up to the carriage yesterday, and I was sure of it when I heard about the tattooing. No girl would allow herself to be tattooed in the interest of abstract justice. Oh, yes! I know all about it; and now I am going out walking in the park with Dick, and I should advise you to compose yourself, for that artist is coming to draw you at twelve.”

And she departed and left Augusta to her reflections, which were–well, not unpleasant ones.

Meanwhile Eustace was marching towards the Temple. As it happened, in the same lodging-house where he had been living for the last few months, two brothers of the name of Short had rooms, and with these young gentlemen he had become very friendly. The two Shorts were twins, and so like one another that it was more than a month before Eustace could be sure which of them he was speaking to. When they were both at college their father died, leaving his property equally between them; and as this property on realisation was not found to amount to more than four hundred a year, the twins very rightly concluded that they had better do something to supplement their moderate income. Accordingly, by a stroke of genius they determined that one of them should become a solicitor and the other a barrister, and then tossed up as to which should take to which trade. The idea, of course, was that in this manner they would be able to afford each other mutual comfort and support. John would give James briefs, and James’ reflected glory would shine back on John. In short, they were anxious to establish a legal dong firm of the most approved pattern.

Accordingly, they passed their respective examinations, and John took rooms with another budding solicitor in the City, while James hired chambers in Pump-court. But there the matter stopped, for as John did not get any work, of course he could not give any to James. And so it came to pass that for the past three years neither of the twins had found the law as profitable as they anticipated. In vain did John sit and sigh in the City. Clients were few and far between: scarcely enough to pay his rent. And in vain did James, artistically robed, wander like the Evil One, from court to court, seeking what he might devour. Occasionally he had the pleasure of taking a note for another barrister who was called away, which means doing another man’s work for nothing. Once, too, a man with whom he had a nodding acquaintance, rushed up to him, and, thrusting a brief into his hands, asked him to hold it for him, telling him that it would be on in a short time, and that there was nothing in it–“nothing at all.” Scarcely had poor James struggled through the brief when the case was called on, and it may suffice to say that at its conclusion, the Judge gazed at him mildly, over his spectacles, and “could not help wondering that any learned counsel had been found who would consent to waste the time of the Court in such a case as the one to which he had been listening.” Clearly James’ friend would not so consent, and had passed on the responsibility, minus the fee. On another occasion, James was in the Probate Court on motion day, and a solicitor–a real live solicitor–came up to him and asked him to make a motion (marked Mr.—-, 2 gns.) for leave to dispense with a co-respondent. This motion he made, and the co-respondent was dispensed with in the approved fashion; but when he turned round the solicitor had vanished, and he never saw him more or the two guineas either. However, the brief, his only one, remained, and, after that, he took to hovering about the Divorce Court, partly in the hope of once more seeing that solicitor, and partly with a vague idea of drifting into practice in the Division.

Now, Eustace had often, when in the Shorts’ sitting-room in the lodging-house in the Strand heard the barrister James hold forth learnedly on the matter of wills, and, therefore, he naturally enough turned towards him in his recent dilemma. Knowing the address of his chambers in Pump-court, he hurried thither, and was in due course admitted by a very small child, who apparently filled the responsible office of clerk to Mr. James Short and several other learned gentlemen, whose names appeared upon the door.

The infant regarded Eustace, when he opened the door, with a look of such preternatural sharpness, that it almost frightened him. The beginning of that eagle glance was full of inquiring hope, and the end of resigned despair. The child had thought that Eustace might be a client come to tread the paths which no client ever had trod. Hence the hope and the despair in his eyes. Eustace had nothing of the solicitor’s clerk about him. Clearly he was not a client.

Mr. Short was in “that door to the right.” Eustace knocked, and entered into a bare little chamber about the size of a large housemaid’s closet, furnished with a table, three chairs (one a basket easy), and a book-case, with a couple of dozen of law books, and some old volumes of reports, and a broad window-sill, in the exact centre of which lay the solitary and venerated brief.

Mr. James Short was a short, stout young man, with black eyes, a hooked nose, and a prematurely bald head. Indeed, this baldness of the head was the only distinguishing mark between James and John, and, therefore, a thing to be thankful for, though, of course, useless to the perplexed acquaintance who met them in the street when their hats were on. At the moment of Eustace’s entry Mr. Short had been engaged in studying that intensely legal print, the _Sporting Times_, which, however, from some unexplained bashfulness, he had hastily thrown under the table, filling its space with a law book snatched at hazard from the shelf.

“All right, old fellow,” said Eustace, whose quick eyes had caught the quick flutter of the vanishing paper; “don’t be alarmed, it’s only me.”

“Ah!” said Mr. James Short, when he had shaken hands with him, “you see I thought that it might have been a client–a client is always possible, however improbable, and one has to be ready to meet the possibility.”

“Quite so, old fellow,” said Eustace; “but do you know, as it happens, I am a client–and a big one, too; it is a matter of two millions of money–my uncle’s fortune. There was another will, and I want to take your advice.”

Mr. Short fairly bounded out of the chair in exultation, and then, struck by another thought, sank back into it again.

“My dear Meeson,” he said, “I am sorry I cannot hear you.”

“Eh,” said Eustace; “what do you mean?”

“I mean that you are not accompanied by a solicitor, and it is not the etiquette of the profession to which I belong to see a client unaccompanied by a solicitor.”

“Oh, hang the etiquette of the profession!”

“My dear Meeson, if you came to me as a friend I should be happy to give you any legal information in my power, and I flatter myself that I know something of matters connected with probate. But you yourself said that you have come as a client, and in that case the personal relationship sinks into the background and is superseded by the official relationship. Under these circumstances it is evident that the etiquette of the profession intervenes, which overmastering force compels me to point out to you how improper and contrary to precedent it would be for me to listen to you without the presence of a properly qualified solicitor.”

“Oh, Lord!” gasped Eustace, “I had no idea that you were so particular; I thought perhaps that you would be glad of the job.”

“Certainly–certainly! In the present state of my practice,” as he glanced at the solitary brief, “I should be the last to wish to turn away work. Let me suggest that you should go and consult my brother John, in the Poultry. I believe business is rather slack with him just now, so I think it probable that you will find him disengaged. Indeed, I dare say that I may go so far as to make an appointment for him here–let us say in an hour’s time. Stop! I will consult my clerk! Dick!”

The infant appeared.

“I believe that I have no appointment for this morning?”

“No, Sir,” said Dick, with a twinkle in his eye. “One moment, Sir, I will consult the book,” and he vanished, to return presently with the information that Mr. Short’s time was not under any contributions that day.

“Very good,” said Mr. Short; “then make an entry of an appointment with Mr. John Short and Mr. Meeson, at two precisely.”

“Yes, Sir,” said Dick, departing to the unaccustomed task.

As soon as Eustace had departed from Tweedledum to Tweedledee, or, in other words, from James, barrister, to John, solicitor, Dick was again summoned and bade go to a certain Mr. Thomson on the next floor. Mr. Thomson had an excellent library, which had come to him by will. On the strength of this bequest, he had become a barrister-at-law, and the object of Dick’s visit was to request the loan of the eighth volume of the statutes revised, containing the Wills Act of 1 Vic., cap. 26, “Brown on Probate,” “Dixon on Probate,” and “Powles on Brown,” to the study of which valuable books Mr. James Short devoted himself earnestly whilst awaiting his client’s return.

Meanwhile, Eustace had made his way in a two-penny ‘bus to one of those busy courts in the City where Mr. John Short practised as a solicitor. Mr. Short’s office was, Eustace discovered by referring to a notice board, on the seventh floor of one of the tallest houses he had ever seen. However, up he went with a stout heart, and after some five minutes of a struggle, that reminded him forcibly of climbing the ladders of a Cornish mine, he arrived at a little door right at the very top of the house on which was painted “Mr. John Short, solicitor.” Eustace knocked and the door was opened by a small boy, so like the small boy he had seen at Mr. James Short’s at the temple that he fairly started. Afterwards the mystery was explained. Like their masters, the two small boys were brothers.

Mr. John Short was within, and Eustace was ushered into his presence. To all appearance he was consulting a voluminous mass of correspondence written on large sheets of brief paper; but when he looked at it closely, it seemed to Eustace that the edges of the paper were very yellow, and the ink was much faded. This, however, was not to be wondered at, seeing that Mr. John Short had taken them over with the other fixtures of the office.

CHAPTER XVI.

SHORT ON LEGAL ETIQUETTE.

“Well, Meeson, what is it? Have you come to ask me to lunch?” asked Mr. John Short. “Do you know I actually thought that you might have been a client.”

“Well, by Jove, old fellow, and so I am,” answered Eustace. “I have been to your brother, and he has sent me on to you, because he says that it is not the etiquette of the profession to see a client unless a solicitor is present, so he has referred me to you.”

“Perfectly right, perfectly right of my brother James, Meeson. Considering how small are his opportunities of becoming cognizant with the practice of his profession, it is extraordinary how well he is acquainted with its theory. And now, what is the point?”

“Well, do you know, Short, as the point is rather a long one, and as your brother said that he should expect us at two precisely, I think that we had better take the ‘bus back to the Temple, when I can tell the yarn to both of you at once.”

“Very well. I do not, as a general rule, like leaving my office at this time of day, as it is apt to put clients to inconvenience, especially such of them as come from a distance. But I will make an exception for you, Meeson. William,” he went on, to the counterpart of the Pump-court infant, “if anyone calls to see me, will you be so good as to tell them that I am engaged in an important conference at the chambers of Mr. Short, in Pump-court, but that I hope to be back by half-past three?”

“Yes, Sir,” said William, as he shut the door behind them: “certainly, Sir.” And then, having placed the musty documents upon the shelf, whence they could be fetched down without difficulty on the slightest sign of a client, that ingenious youth, with singular confidence that nobody would be inconvenienced thereby, put a notice on the door to the effect that he would be back immediately, and adjourned to indulge in the passionately exhilarating game of “chuck farthing” with various other small clerks of his acquaintance.

In due course, Eustace and his legal adviser arrived at Pump-court, and, oh! how the heart of James, the barrister, swelled with pride when, for the first time in his career, he saw a real solicitor enter his chambers accompanied by a real client. He would, indeed, have preferred it if the solicitor had not happened to be his twin-brother, and the client had been some other than his intimate friend; but still it was a blessed sight–a very-blessed sight!

“Will you be seated, gentlemen?” he said with much dignity.

They obeyed.

“And now, Meeson, I suppose that you have explained to my brother the matter on which you require my advice?”

“No, I haven’t,” said Eustace; “I thought I might as well explain it to you both together, eh?”

“Hum,” said James; “it is not quite regular. According to the etiquette of the profession to which I have the honour to belong, it is not customary that matters should be so dealt with. It is usual that papers should be presented; but that I will overlook, as the point appears to be pressing.”

“That’s right,” said Eustace. “Well, I have come to see about a will.”

“So I understand,” said James; “but what will, and where is it?”

“Well, it’s a will in my favour, and is tattooed upon a lady’s neck.”

The twins simultaneously rose from their chairs, and looked at Eustace with such a ridiculous identity of movement and expression that he fairly burst out laughing.

“I presume, Meeson, that this is not a hoax,” said James, severely. “I presume that you know too well what is due to learned counsel to attempt to make one of their body the victim of a practical joke?”

“Surely, Meeson,” added John, “you have sufficient respect for the dignity of the law not to tamper with it in any such way as my brother has indicated?”

“Oh, certainly not. I assure you it is all square. It is a true bill, or rather a true will.”

“Proceed,” said James, resuming his seat. “This is evidently a case of an unusual nature.”

“You are right there, old boy,” said Eustace. “And now, just listen,” and he proceeded to unfold his moving tale with much point and emphasis.

When he had finished John looked at James rather helplessly. The case was beyond him. But James was equal to the occasion. He had mastered that first great axiom which every young barrister should lay to heart–“Never appear to be ignorant.”

“This case,” he said, as though he were giving judgment, “is, doubtless, of a remarkable nature, and I cannot at the moment lay my hand upon any authority bearing on the point–if, indeed, any such are to be found. But I speak off-hand, and must not be held too closely to the _obiter dictum_ of a _viva voce_ opinion. It seems to me that, notwithstanding its peculiar idiosyncrasies, and the various ‘cruces’ that it presents, it will, upon closer examination, be found to fall within those general laws that govern the legal course of testamentary disposition. If I remember aright–I speak off-hand–the Act of 1. Vic., cap. 26, specifies that a will shall be in writing, and tattooing may fairly be defined as a rude variety of writing. It is, I admit, usual that writing should be done on paper or parchment, but I have no doubt that the young lady’s skin, if carefully removed and dried, would make excellent parchment. At present, therefore, it is parchment in its green stage, and perfectly available for writing purposes.

“To continue. It appears–I am taking Mr. Meeson’s statement as being perfectly accurate–that the will was properly and duly executed by the testator, or rather by the person who tattooed in his presence and at his command: a form of signature which is very well covered by the section of the Act of 1. Vic., cap. 26. It seems, too, that the witnesses attested in the presence of each other and of the testator. It is true that there was no attestation clause: but the supposed necessity for an attestation clause is one of those fallacies of the lay mind which, perhaps, cluster more frequently and with a greater persistence round questions connected with testamentary disposition than those of any other branch of the law. Therefore, we must take the will to have been properly executed in accordance with the spirit of the statute.

“And now we come to what at present strikes me as the crux. The will is undated. Does that invalidate it? I answer with confidence, no. And mark: evidence–that of Lady Holmhurst–can be produced that this will did not exist upon Miss Augusta Smithers previous to Dec. 19, on which day the Kangaroo sank; and evidence can also be produced–that of Mrs. Thomas–that it did exist on Christmas Day, when Miss Smithers was rescued. It is, therefore, clear that it must have got upon her back between Dec. 19 and Dec. 25.”

“Quite so, old fellow,” said Eustace, much impressed at this coruscation of legal lore. “Evidently you are the man to tackle the case. But, I say, what is to be done next? You see, I’m afraid it’s too late. Probate has issued, whatever that may mean.”

“Probate has issued!” echoed the great James, struggling with his rising contempt; “and is the law so helpless that probate which has been allowed to issue under an erroneous apprehension of the facts cannot be recalled? Most certainly not! So soon as the preliminary formalities are concluded, a writ must be issued to revoke the probate, and claiming that the Court should pronounce in favour of the later will; or, stay, there is no executor–there is no executor!–a very important point–claiming a grant of letters of administration with the will annexed: I think that will be the better course.”

“But how can you annex Miss Smithers to a ‘grant of letters of administration,’ whatever that may mean?” said Eustace, feebly.

“That reminds me,” said James, disregarding the question and addressing his brother, “you must at once file Miss Smithers in the registry, and see to the preparation of the usual affidavit of scripts.”

“Certainly, certainly,” said John, as though this were the most simple business in the world.

“What?” gasped Eustace, as a vision of Augusta impaled upon an enormous bill-guard rose before his eyes. “You can’t file a lady; it’s impossible!”

“Impossible or not, it must be done before any further steps are taken. Let me see; I believe that Dr. Probate is the sitting Registrar at Somerset House this sittings. It would be well if you made an appointment for to-morrow.”

“Yes,” said John.

“Well,” went on James, “I think that is all for the present. You will, of course, let me have the instructions and other papers with all possible speed. I suppose that other counsel besides myself will be ultimately retained?”

“Oh! that reminds me,” said Eustace; “about money, you know. I don’t quite see how I am going to pay for all this game. I have got about fifty pounds spare cash in the world, and that’s all: and I know enough to be aware that fifty pounds do not go far in a lawsuit.”

Blankly James looked at John and John at James. This was very trying.

“Fifty pounds will go a good way in out-of-pocket fees,” suggested James, at length, rubbing his bald head with his handkerchief.

“Possibly,” answered John, pettishly; “but how about the remuneration of the plaintiff’s legal advisers? Can’t you”–addressing Eustace–“manage to get the money from someone?”

“Well,” said Eustace, “there’s Lady Holmhurst. Perhaps if I offered to share the spoil with her, if there was any.”

“Dear me, no,” said John; “that would be ‘maintenance.'”

“Certainly not,” chimed in James, holding up his hand in dismay. “Most clearly it would be ‘Champerty’; and did it come to the knowledge of the Court, nobody can say what might not happen.”

“Indeed,” answered Eustace, with a sigh, “I don’t quite know what you mean, but I seem to have said something very wrong. The odds on a handicap are child’s play to understand beside this law,” he added sadly.

“It is obvious, James,” said John, that, “putting aside other matters, this would prove, independent of pecuniary reward, a most interesting case for you to conduct.”

“That is so, John,” replied James; “but as you must be well aware, the etiquette of my profession will not allow me to conduct a case for nothing. Upon that point, above all others, etiquette rules us with a rod of iron. The stomach of the bar, collective and individual, is revolted and scandalised at the idea of one of its members doing anything for nothing.”

“Yes,” put in Eustace, “I have always understood they were regular nailers.”

“Quite so, my dear James; quite so,” said John, with a sweet smile. “A fee must be marked upon the brief of learned counsel, and that fee be paid to him, together with many other smaller fees; for learned counsel is like the cigarette-boxes and new-fashioned weighing-machines at the stations: he does not work unless you drop something down him. But there is nothing to prevent learned counsel from returning that fee, and all the little fees. Indeed, James, you will see that this practice is common amongst the most eminent of your profession, when, for instance, they require an advertisement or wish to pay a delicate compliment to a constituency. What do they do then? They wait till they find L500 marked upon a brief, and then resign their fee. Why should you not do the same in this case, in your own interest? Of course, if we win the cause, the other side or the estate will pay the costs; and if we lose, you will at least have had the advantage, the priceless advantage, of a unique advertisement.”

“Very well, John; let it be so,” said James, with magnanimity. “Your check for fees will be duly returned; but it must be understood that they are to be presented.”

“Not at the bank,” said John, hastily. “I have recently had to oblige a client,” he added by way of explanation to Eustace, “and my balance is rather low.”

“No,” said James; “I quite understand. I was going to say ‘are to be presented to my clerk.'”

And with this solemn farce, the conference came to an end.

CHAPTER XVII.

HOW AUGUSTA WAS FILED.

That very afternoon Eustace returned to Lady Holmhurst’s house in Hanover-square, to tell his dear Augusta that she must attend on the following morning to be filed in the Registry at Somerset House. As may be imagined, though willing to go any reasonable length to oblige her new-found lover, Augusta not unnaturally resisted this course violently, and was supported in her resistance by her friend Lady Holmhurst, who, however, presently left the room, leaving them to settle it as they liked.

“I do think that it is a little hard,” said Augusta with a stamp of her foot, “that, after all that I have gone through, I should be taken off to have my unfortunate back stared at by a Doctor some one or other, and then be shut up with a lot of musty old wills in a Registry.”

“Well, my dearest girl,” said Eustace, “either it must be done or else the whole thing must be given up. Mr. John Short declares that it is absolutely necessary that the document should be placed in the custody of the officer of the Court.”

“But how am I going to live in a cupboard, or in an iron safe with a lot of wills?” asked Augusta, feeling very cross indeed.

“I don’t know, I am sure,” said Eustace; “Mr. John Short says that that is a matter which the learned Doctor will have to settle. His own opinion is that the learned Doctor–confound him!–will order that you should accompany him about wherever he goes till the trial comes off; for, you see, in that way you would never be out of the custody of an officer of the Court. But,” went on Eustace, gloomily, “all I can tell him, if he makes that order, is, that if he takes you about with him he will have to take me too.”

“Why?” said Augusta.

“Why? Because I don’t trust him–that’s why. Old? oh, yes; I dare say he is old. And, besides, just think: this learned gentleman has practised for twenty years in the Divorce Court! Now, I ask you, what can you expect from a gentleman, however learned, who has practised for twenty years in the Divorce Court? I know him,” went on Eustace, vindictively–“I know him. He will fall in love with you himself. Why, he would be an old duffer if he didn’t.”

“Really,” said Augusta, bursting out laughing, “you are too ridiculous, Eustace.”

“I don’t know about being ridiculous, Augusta: but if you think I am going to let you be marched about by that learned Doctor without my being there to look after you, you are mistaken. Why, of course he would fall in love with you, or some of his clerks would; nobody could be near you for a couple of days without doing so.”

“Do you think so?” said Augusta, looking at him very sweetly.

“Yes, I do,” he answered, and thus the conversation came to an end and was not resumed till dinner-time.

On the following morning at eleven o’clock, Eustace, who had managed to get a few days’ leave from his employers, arrived with Mr. John Short to take Augusta and Lady Holmhurst–who was going to chaperon her–to Somerset House, whither, notwithstanding her objections of the previous day, she had at last consented to go. Mr. Short was introduced, and much impressed both the ladies by the extraordinary air of learning and command which was stamped upon his countenance. He wanted to inspect the will at once; but Augusta struck at this, saying that it would be quite enough to have her shoulders stared at once that day. With a sigh and a shake of the head at her unreasonableness, Mr. John Short submitted, and then the carriage came round and they were all driven off to Somerset House. Presently they were there, and after threading innumerable chilly passages, reached a dismal room with an almanack, a dirty deal table, and a few chairs in it, wherein were congregated several solicitors’ clerks, waiting their turn to appear before the Registrar. Here they waited for half-an-hour or more, to Augusta’s considerable discomfort, for she soon found that she was an object of curiosity and closest attention to the solicitors’ clerks, who never took their eyes off her. Presently she discovered the reason, for having remarkably quick ears, she overheard one of the solicitors’ clerks, a callow little man with yellow hair and an enormous diamond pin, whose appearance somehow reminded her of a new-born chicken, tell another, who was evidently of the Jewish faith, that she (Augusta) was the respondent in the famous divorce case of Jones v. Jones, and was going to appear before the Registrar to submit herself to cross examination in some matter connected with a grant of alimony. Now, as all London was talking about the alleged iniquities of the Mrs. Jones in question, whose moral turpitude was only equalled by her beauty, Augusta did not feel best pleased, although she perceived that she instantly became an object of heartfelt admiration to the clerks.

Presently, however, somebody poked his head through the door, which he opened just wide enough to admit it, and bawling out–

“Short, re Meeson,” vanished as abruptly as he had come.

“Now, Lady Holmhurst, if you please,” said Mr. John Short, “allow me to show the way, if you will kindly follow with the will–this way, please.”

In another minute, the unfortunate “will” found herself in a large and lofty room, at the top of which, with his back to the light, sat a most agreeable-looking middle-aged gentleman, who, as they advanced, rose with a politeness that one does not generally expect from officials on a fixed salary, and, bowing, asked them to be seated.

“Well, what can I do for you? Mr.–ah! Mr.”–and he put on his eye-glasses and referred to his notes–“Mr. Short–you wish to file a will, I understand; and there are peculiar circumstances of some sort in the case?”

“Yes, Sir; there are,” said Mr. John Short, with much meaning. “The will to be filed in the Registry is the last true will of Jonathan Meeson, of Pompadour Hall, in the county of Warwick, and the property concerned amounts to about two millions. Upon last motion day, the death of Jonathan Meeson, who was supposed to have sunk in the Kangaroo, was allowed to be presumed, and probate has been taken out. As a matter of fact, however, the said Jonathan Meeson perished in Kerguelen Land some days after the shipwreck, and before he died he duly executed a fresh will in favour of his nephew, Eustace H. Meeson, the gentleman before you. Miss Augusta Smithers”–

“What,” said the learned Registrar, “is this Miss Smithers whom we have been reading so much about lately–the Kerguelen Land heroine?”

“Yes; I am Miss Smithers,” she said with a little blush; “and this is Lady Holmhurst, whose husband”–and she checked herself.

“It gives me much pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Smithers,” said the learned Doctor, courteously shaking hands, and bowing to Lady Holmhurst–proceedings which Eustace watched with the jaundiced eye of suspicion. “He’s beginning already,” said that ardent lover to himself. “I knew how it would be. Trust my Gus into his custody?–never! I had rather be committed for contempt.”

“The best thing that I can do, Sir,” went on John Short, impatiently, for, to his severe eye, these interruptions were not seemly, “will be to at once offer you inspection of the document, which, I may state, is of an unusual character,” and he looked at Augusta, who, poor girl, coloured to the eyes.

“Quite so, quite so” said the learned Registrar. “Well, has Miss Smithers got the will? Perhaps she will produce it.”

“Miss Smithers _is_ the will,” said Mr. John Short.

“Oh–I am afraid that I do not quite understand”–

“To be more precise, Sir, the will is tattooed on Miss Smithers.”

“_What_?” almost shouted the learned Doctor, literally bounding from his chair.

“The will is tattooed upon Miss Smithers’s back,” continued Mr. John Short, in a perfectly unmoved tone; “and it is now my duty to offer you inspection of the document, and to take your instructions as to how you propose to file it in the Registry”–

“Inspection of the document–inspection of the document?” gasped the astonished Doctor; “How am I to inspect the document?”

“I must leave that to you, Sir,” said Mr. John Short, regarding the learned Registrar’s shrinking form with contempt not unmixed with pity. “The will is on the lady’s back, and I, on behalf of the plaintiff, mean to get a grant with the document annexed.”

Lady Holmhurst began to laugh; and as for the learned Doctor, anything more absurd than he looked, intrenched as he was behind his office chair, with perplexity written on his face, it would be impossible to imagine.

“Well,” he said at length, “I suppose that I must come to a decision. It is a painful matter, very, to a person of modest temperament. However, I cannot shrink from my duty, and must face it. Therefore,” he went on with an air of judicial sternness, “therefore, Miss Smithers, I must trouble you to show me this alleged will. There is a cupboard there,” and he pointed to the corner of the room, “where you can make–‘um–make the necessary preparations.”

“Oh, it isn’t quite so bad at that,” said Augusta, with a sigh, and she began to remove her jacket.

“Dear me!” he said, observing her movement with alarm, “I suppose she is hardened,” he continued to himself: “but I dare say one gets used to this sort of thing upon desert islands.”

Meanwhile poor Augusta had got her jacket off. She was dressed in an evening dress, and had a white silk scarf over her shoulder: this she removed.

“Oh,” he said, “I see–in evening dress. Well, of course, that is quite a different matter. And so that is the will–well, I have had some experience, but I never saw or heard of anything like it before. Signed and attested, but not dated. Ah! unless,” he added, “the date is lower down.”

“No,” said Augusta, “there is no date; I could not stand any more tattooing. It was all done at one sitting, and I got faint.”

“I don’t wonder at it, I am sure. I think it is the bravest thing I ever heard of,” and he bowed with much grace.

“Ah,” muttered Eustace, “he’s beginning to pay compliments now, insidious old hypocrite!”

“Well,” went on the innocent and eminently respectable object of his suspicions, “of course the absence of a date does not invalidate a will–it is matter for proof, that is all. But there, I am not in a position to give any opinion about the case; it is quite beyond me, and besides, that is not my business. But now, Miss Smithers, as you have once put yourself in the custody of the Registry in the capacity of a will, might I ask if you have any suggestion to make as to how you are to be dealt with. Obviously you cannot be locked up with the other wills, and equally obviously it is against the rules to allow a will to go out of the custody of the Court, unless by special permission of the Court. Also it is clear that I cannot put any restraint upon the liberty of the subject and order you to remain with me. Indeed, I doubt if it would be possible to do so by any means short of an Act of Parliament. Under these circumstances I am, I confess, a little confused as to what course should be taken with reference to this important alleged will.”

“What I have to suggest, Sir,” said Mr. Short, “is that a certified copy of the will should be filed, and that there should be a special paragraph inserted in the affidavit of scripts detailing the circumstances.”

“Ah,” said the learned Doctor, polishing his eye-glasses, “you have given me an idea. With Miss Smithers’ consent we will file something better than a certified copy of the will–we will file a photographic copy. The inconvenience to Miss Smithers will be trifling, and it may prevent questions being raised hereafter.”

“Have you any objections to that, my dear?” asked Lady Holmhurst.

“Oh, no, I suppose not,” said Augusta mournfully; “I seem to be public property now.”

“Very well, then; excuse me for a moment,” said the learned Doctor. “There is a photographer close by whom I have had occasion to employ officially. I will write and see if he can come round.”

In a few minutes an answer came back from the photographer that he would be happy to wait upon Doctor Probate at three o’clock, up to which hour he was engaged.

“Well,” said the Doctor, “it is clear that I cannot let Miss Smithers out of the custody of the Court till the photograph is taken. Let me see, I think that yours was my last appointment this morning. Now, what do you say to the idea of something to eat? We are not five minutes drive from Simpson’s, and I shall feel delighted if you will make a pleasure of a necessity.”

Lady Holmhurst, who was getting very hungry, said that she should be most pleased, and, accordingly, they all–with the exception of Mr. John Short, who departed about some business, saying that he would return at three o’clock–drove off in Lady Holmhurst’s carriage to the restaurant, where this delightful specimen of the genus Registrar stood them a most sumptuous champagne lunch, and made himself so agreeable, that both the ladies nearly fell in love with him, and even Eustace was constrained to admit to himself that good things can come out of the Divorce Court. Finally, the doctor wound up the proceedings, which were of a most lively order, and included an account of Augusta’s adventures, with a toast.

“I hear from Lady Holmhurst,” he said, “that you two young people are going to take the preliminary step–um–towards a possible future appearance in that Court with which I had for many years the honor of being connected–that is, that you are going to get married. Now, matrimony is, according to my somewhat extended experience, an undertaking of a venturesome order, though cases occasionally come under one’s observation where the results have proved to be in every way satisfactory; and I must say that, if I may form an opinion from the facts as they are before me, I never knew an engagement entered into under more promising or more romantic auspices. Here the young gentleman quarrels with his uncle in taking the part of the young lady, and thereby is disinherited of vast wealth. Then the young lady, under the most terrible circumstances, takes steps of a nature that not one woman in five hundred would have done to restore to him that wealth. Whether or no those steps will ultimately prove successful I do not know, and, if I did, like Herodotus, I should prefer not to say; but whether the wealth comes or goes, it is impossible but that a sense of mutual confidence and a mutual respect and admiration–that is, if a more quiet thing, certainly, also, a more enduring thing, than mere ‘love’–must and will result from them. Mr. Meeson, you are indeed a fortunate man. In Miss Smithers you are going to marry beauty, courage, and genius, and if you will allow an older man of some experience to drop the official and give you a word of advice, it is this: always try to deserve your good fortune, and remember that a man who, in his youth, finds such a woman, and is enabled by circumstances to marry her, is indeed–

_Smiled on by Joy, and cherished of the Gods._

“And now I will end my sermon, and wish you both health and happiness and fulness of days,” and he drank off his glass of champagne, and looked so pleasant and kindly that Augusta longed to kiss him on the spot, and as for Eustace, he shook hands with him warmly, and then and there a friendship began between the two which endures till now.

And then they all went back to the office, and there was the photographer waiting with all his apparatus, and astonished enough he was when he found out what the job was that he had to do. However, the task proved an easy one enough, as the light of the room was suitable, and the dark lines of cuttle ink upon Augusta’s neck would, the man said, come out perfectly in the photograph. So he took two or three shots at her back and then departed, saying that he would bring a life-sized reproduction to be filed in the Registry in a couple of days.

And after that the learned Registrar also shook hands with them, and said that he need detain them no longer, as he now felt justified in allowing Augusta out of his Custody.

And so they departed, glad to have got over the first step so pleasantly.

CHAPTER XVIII.

AUGUSTA FLIES.

Of course, Augusta’s story, so far as it was publicly known, had created no small stir, which was considerably emphasised when pictures of her appeared in the illustrated papers, and it was discovered that she was young and charming. But the excitement, great as it was, was as nothing compared to that which arose when the first whispers of the tale of the will, which was tattooed upon her shoulders, began to get about. Paragraphs and stories about this will appeared in the papers, but of course she took no notice of these.

On the fourth day, however, after she had been photographed for the purposes of the Registry, things came to a climax. It so happened that on that morning Lady Holmhurst asked Augusta to go to a certain shop in Regent-street to get some lace which she required to trim her widow’s dresses, and accordingly at about half-past twelve o’clock she started, accompanied by the lady’s maid. As soon as they shut the front door of the house in Hanover-square she noticed two or three doubtful-looking men who were loitering about, and who instantly followed them, staring at her with all their eyes. She made her way along, however, without taking any notice until she got to Regent-street, by which time there were quite a score of people walking after her whispering excitedly at each other. In Regent-street itself, the first thing that she saw was a man selling photographs. Evidently he was doing a roaring trade, for there was a considerable crowd round him, and he was shouting something which she could not catch. Presently a gentleman, who had bought one of the photographs, stopped just in front of her to look at it, and as he was short and Augusta was tall, she could see over his shoulder, and the next second started back with an indignant exclamation. “No wonder!” for the photograph was one of herself as she had been taken in the low dress in the Registry. There was no mistake about it–there was the picture of the will tattooed right across her shoulders.

Nor did her troubles end there, for at that moment a man came bawling down the street carrying a number of the first edition of an evening paper–

“Description and picture of the lovely ‘eroine of the Cockatoo,” he yelled, “with the will tattooed upon ‘er! Taken from the original photograph! Facsimile picture!”

“Oh, dear me,” said Augusta to the maid, “that is really too bad. Let us go home.”

But meanwhile the crowd at her back had gathered and increased to an extraordinary extent and was slowly inclosing her in a circle. The fact was, that the man who had followed her from Hanover-square had told the others who joined their ranks, who the lady was, and she was now identified.

“That’s her,” said one man.

“Who?” said another.

“Why, the Miss Smithers as escaped from the Kangaroo and has the will on her back, in course.”

There was a howl of exultation from the mob, and in another second the wretched Augusta was pressed, together with the lady’s maid, who began to scream with fright, right up against a lamp-post, while a crowd of eager faces, mostly unwashed, were pushed almost into her own. Indeed, so fierce was the crowd in its attempt to get a glimpse of the latest curiosity, that she began to think that she would be thrown down and trampled under foot, when timely relief arrived in the shape of two policemen and a gentleman volunteer, who managed to rescue her and get them into a hansom cab, which started for Hanover-square, pursued by a shouting crowd of nondescript individuals.

Now, Augusta was a woman of good-nerve and resolution; but this sort of thing was too trying, and, accordingly, accompanied by Lady Holmhurst, she went off, that very day, to some rooms in a little riverside hotel on the Thames.

When Eustace, walking down the Strand that afternoon, found every photograph-shop full of accurate pictures of the shoulders of his beloved, he was simply furious; and, rushing to the photographer who had taken the picture in the Registry, threatened him with proceedings of every sort and kind. The man admitted outright that he had put the photographs upon the market, saying that he had never stipulated not to do so, and that he could not afford to throw away five or six hundred pounds when a chance of making it came in his way.

Thereon Eustace departed, still vowing vengeance, to consult the legal twins. As a result of this, within a week, Mr. James Short made a motion for and injunction against the photographer, restraining the sale of the photographs in question, on the ground that such sale, being of copies of a document vital to a cause now pending in the Court, those copies having been obtained through the instrumentality of an officer of the court, Dr. Probate, the sale thereof amounted to a contempt, inasmuch as, if for no other reason, the photographer who obtained them became technically, and for that purpose only, an officer of the Court, and had, therefore, no right to part with them, or any of them, without the leave of the Court. It will be remembered that this motion gave rise to some very delicate questions connected with the powers of the Court in such a matter, and also incidentally with the law of photographic copyright. It is also memorable for the unanimous and luminous judgment finally delivered by the Lords Justices of Appeal, whereby the sale of the photographs was stopped, and the photographer was held to have been guilty of a technical contempt. This judgment contained perhaps the most searching and learned definition of constructive contempt that has yet been formulated: but for the text of this, I must refer the student to the law reports, because, as it took two hours to deliver, I fear that it would, notwithstanding its many beauties, be thought too long for the purpose of this history. Unfortunately, however, it did not greatly benefit Augusta, the victim of the unlawful dissemination of photographs of her shoulders, inasmuch as the judgment was not delivered till a week after the great case of Meeson v. Addison and Another had been settled.

About a week after Augusta’s adventure in Regent-street, a motion was made in the Court of Probate on behalf of the defendants, Messrs. Addison and Roscoe, who were the executors and principal beneficiaries under the former will of November, 1885, demanding that the Court should order the plaintiff to tile a further and better affidavit of scripts, with the original will got up by him attached, the object, of course, being to compel an inspection of the document. This motion, which first brought the whole case under the notice of the public, was strenuously resisted by Mr. James Short, and resulted in the matter being referred to the learned Registrar for his report. On the next motion day this report was presented, and, on its appearing from it that the photography had taken place in his presence and accurately represented the tattoo marks on the lady’s shoulders, the Court declined to harass the “will” by ordering her to submit to any further inspection before the trial. It was on this occasion that it transpired that the will was engaged to be married to the plaintiff, a fact at which the Court metaphorically opened its eyes. After this the defendants obtained leave to amend their answer to the plaintiffs statement of claim. At first they had only pleaded that the testator had not duly executed the alleged will in accordance with the provisions of 1 Vic., cap. 26, sec. 2, and that he did not know and approve the contents thereof. But now they added a plea to the effect that the said alleged will was obtained by the undue influence of Augusta Smithers, or, as one of the learned counsel for the defendants put it much more clearly at the trial, “that the will had herself procured the will, by an undue projection of her own will upon the unwilling mind of the testator.”

And so the time went on. As often as he could, Eustace got away from London, and went down to the little riverside hotel, and was as happy as a man can be who has a tremendous law suit hanging over him. The law, no doubt, is an admirable institution, out of which a large number of people make a living, and a proportion of benefit accrues to the community at large. But woe unto those who form the subject-matter of its operations. For instance, the Court of Chancery is an excellent institution in theory, and looks after the affairs of minors upon the purest principles. But how many of its wards after, and as a result of one of its well-intentioned interferences, have to struggle for the rest of their lives under a load of debt raised to pay the crushing costs! To employ the Court of Chancery to look after wards is something as though one set a tame elephant to pick up pins. No doubt he could pick them up, but it would cost something to feed him. It is a perfectly arguable proposition that the Court of Chancery produces as much wretchedness and poverty as it prevents, and it certainly is a bold step, except under the most exceptionable circumstances, to place anybody in its custody who has money that can be dissipated in law expenses. But of course these are revolutionary remarks, which one cannot expect everybody to agree with, least of all the conveyancing counsel of the Court.

However this may be, certainly his impending lawsuit proved a fly in Eustace’s honey. Never a day passed but some fresh worry arose. James and John, the legal twins, fought like heroes, and held their own although their experience was so small–as men of talent almost invariably do when they are put to it. But it was difficult for Eustace to keep them supplied even with sufficient money for out-of-pocket expenses; and, of course, as was natural in a case in which such enormous sums were at stake, and in which the defendants were already men of vast wealth, they found the flower of the entire talent and weight of the Bar arrayed against them. Naturally Eustace felt, and so did Mr. James Short–who, notwithstanding his pomposity and the technicality of his talk, was both a clever and sensible man–that more counsel, men of weight and experience, ought to be briefed; but there were absolutely no funds for this purpose, nor was anybody likely to advance any upon the security of a will tattooed upon a young lady’s back. This was awkward, because success in law proceedings so very often leans towards the weightiest purse, and Judges however impartial, being but men after all, are more apt to listen to an argument which is urged upon their attention by an Attorney-General than on one advanced by an unknown junior.

However, there the fact was, and they had to make the best of it; and a point in their favour was that the case, although of a most remarkable nature, was comparatively simple, and did not involve any great mass of documentary evidence.

CHAPTER XIX.

MEESON V. ADDISON AND ANOTHER.

The most wearisome times go by at last if only one lives to see the end of them, and so it came to pass that at length on one fine morning about a quarter to ten of the Law Courts’ clock, that projects its ghastly hideousness upon unoffending Fleet-street, Augusta, accompanied by Eustace, Lady Holmhurst, and Mrs. Thomas, the wife of Captain Thomas, who had come up from visiting her relatives in the Eastern counties in order to give evidence, found herself standing in the big entrance to the new Law Courts, feeling as though she would give five years of her life to be anywhere else.

“This way, my dear,” said Eustace; “Mr. John Short said that he would meet us by the statue in the hall.” Accordingly they passed into the archway by the oak stand where the cause-lists are displayed. Augusta glanced at them as she went, and the first thing that her eyes fell on was “Probate and Divorce Division Court I., at 10.30, Meeson v. Addison and Another,” and the sight made her feel ill. In another moment they had passed a policeman of gigantic size, “monstrum horrendum, informe, ingens,” who watches and wards the folding-doors through which so much human learning, wretchedness, and worry pass day by day, and were standing in the long, but narrow and ill-proportioned hall which appears to have been the best thing that the architectural talent of the nineteenth century was capable of producing.

To the right of the door on entering is a statue of the architect of a pile of which England has certainly no cause to feel proud, and here, a black bag full of papers in his hand, stood Mr. John Short, wearing that air of excitement upon his countenance which is so commonly to be seen in the law courts.

“Here you are,” he said, “I was beginning to be afraid that you would be late. We are first on the list, you know; the judge fixed it specially to suit the convenience of the Attorney-General. He’s on the other side, you know,” he added, with a sigh. “I’m sure I don’t know how poor James will get on. There are more than twenty counsel against him, for all the legatees under the former will are represented. At any rate, he is well up in his facts, and there does not seem to me to be very much law in the case.”

Meanwhile, they had been proceeding up the long hall till they came to a poky little staircase which had just been dug out in the wall, the necessity for a staircase at that end of the hall, whereby the court floor could be reached having, to all appearance, originally escaped the attention of the architect. On getting to the top of the staircase they turned to the left and then to the left again. If they had had any doubt as to which road they should take it would have been speedily decided by the long string of wigs which were streaming away in the direction of Divorce Court No. 1. Thicker and thicker grew the wigs; it was obvious that the _cause celebre_ of Meeson v. Addison and Another would not want for hearers. Indeed, Augusta and her friends soon realised the intensity of the public interest in a way that was as impressive as it was disagreeable, for just past the Admiralty Court the passage was entirely blocked by an enormous mass of barristers; there might have been five hundred or more of them. There they were, choked up together in their white-wigged ranks, waiting for the door of the court to be opened. At present it was guarded by six or eight attendants, who, with the help of a wooden barrier, attempted to keep the surging multitude at bay–while those behind cried, “Forward!” and those in front cried “Back!”

“How on earth are we going to get through?” asked Augusta, and at that moment Mr. John Short caught hold of an attendant who was struggling about in the skirts of the crowd like a fly in a cup of tea, and asked him the same question, explaining that their presence was necessary to the show.

“I’m bothered if I know, Sir; you can’t come this way. I suppose I must let you through by the underground passage from the other court. Why,” he went on, as he led the way to the Admiralty Court, “hang me, if I don’t believe that we shall all be crushed to death by them there barristers: It would take a regiment of cavalry to keep them back. And they are a ‘ungry lot, they are; and they ain’t no work to do, and that’s why they comes kicking and tearing and worriting just to see a bit of painting on a young lady’s shoulders.”

By this time they had passed through the Admiralty Court, which was not sitting, and been conducted down a sort of well, that terminated in the space occupied by the Judge’s clerks and other officers of the Court. In another minute they found themselves emerging in a similar space in the other court.

Before taking the seat that was pointed out to her and the other witnesses in the well of the court, immediately below those reserved for Queen’s counsel, Augusta glanced round. The body of the court was as yet quite empty, for the seething mob outside had not yet burst in, though their repeated shouts of “Open the door!” could be plainly heard. But the jury box was full, not with a jury, for the case was to be tried before the Court itself, but of various distinguished individuals, including several ladies, who had obtained orders. The little gallery above was also crowded with smart-looking people. As for the seats devoted to counsel in the cause, they were crammed to overflowing with the representatives of the various defendants–so crammed, indeed, that the wretched James Short, sole counsel for the plaintiff, had to establish himself and big papers in the centre of the third bench sometimes used by solicitors.

“Heavens!” said Eustace to Augusta, counting the heads; “there are twenty-three counsel against us. What will that unfortunate James do against so many?”

“I don’t know, I’m sure,” said Augusta, with a sigh. “It doesn’t seem quite fair, does it? But then, you see, there was no money.”

Just then John Short came up. He had been to speak to his brother. Augusta being a novelist, and therefore a professional student of human physiognomy, was engaged in studying the legal types before her, which she found resolved themselves into two classes–the sharp, keen-faced class and the solid, heavy-jawed class.

“Who on earth are they all?” she asked.

“Oh,” he said, “that’s the Attorney-General. He appears with Fiddlestick, Q.C., Pearl, and Bean for the defendant Addison. Next to him is the Solicitor-General, who, with Playford, Q.C., Middlestone, Blowhard, and Ross, is for the other defendant, Roscoe. Next to him is Turphy, Q.C., with the spectacles on; he is supposed to have a great effect on a jury. I don’t know the name of his junior, but he looks as though he were going to eat one–doesn’t he? He is for one of the legatees. That man behind is Stickon; he is for one of the legatees also. I suppose that he finds probate and divorce an interesting subject, because he is always writing books about them. Next to him is Howles, who, my brother says, is the best comic actor in the court. The short gentleman in the middle is Telly; he reports for the _Times_. You see, as this is an important case, he has got somebody to help him to take it–that long man with a big wig. He, by-the-way, writes novels, like you do, only not half such good ones. The next”–but at this moment Mr. John Short was interrupted by the approach of a rather good-looking man, who wore an eye-glass continually fixed in his right eye. He was Mr. News, of the great firm News and News, who were conducting the case on behalf of the defendants.

“Mr. Short, I believe?” said Mr. News, contemplating his opponent’s youthful form with pity, not unmixed with compassion.

“Yes.”

“Um, Mr. Short, I have been consulting with my clients and–um, the Attorney and Solicitor-General and Mr. Fiddlestick, and we are quite willing to admit that there are circumstances of doubt in this case which would justify us in making an offer of settlement.”

“Before I can enter into that, Mr. News,” said John, with great dignity, “I must request the presence of my counsel.”

“Oh, certainly,” said Mr. News, and accordingly James was summoned from his elevated perch, where he was once more going through his notes and the heads of his opening speech, although he already knew his brief–which, to do it justice, had been prepared with extraordinary care and elaboration–almost by heart, and next moment, for the first time in his life, found himself in consultation with an Attorney and a Solicitor-General.

“Look here, Short,” said the first of these great men addressing James as though he had known him intimately for years, though, as a matter of fact, he had only that moment ascertained his name from Mr. Fiddlestick, who was himself obliged to refer to Bean before he could be sure of it–“look here, Short: don’t you think that we can settle this business? You’ve got a strongish case; but there are some ugly things against you, as no doubt you know.”

“I don’t quite admit that,” said James.

“Of course–of course,” said Mr. Attorney; “but still, in my judgment, if you will not be offended at my expressing it, you are not quite on firm ground. Supposing, for instance, your young lady is not allowed to give evidence?”

“I think,” said a stout gentleman behind who wore upon his countenance the very sweetest and most infantile smile that Eustace had ever seen, breaking in rather hastily, as though he was afraid that his learned leader was showing too much of his hand, “I think that the case is one that, looked at from either point of view, will bear settlement better than fighting–eh, Fiddlestick? But then, I’m a man of peace,” and again he smiled most seductively at James.

“What are your terms” asked James.

The eminent counsel on the front bench turned round and stuck their wigs together like a lot of white-headed crows over a bone, and the slightly less eminent but still highly distinguished juniors on the second bench craned forward to listen.

“They are going to settle it,” Eustace heard the barrister who was reporting for the _Times_ say to his long assistant.

“They always do settle every case of public interest,” grunted the long man in answer; “we shan’t see Miss Smithers’ shoulders now. Well, I shall get an introduction to her, and ask her to show them to me. I take a great interest in tattooing.”

Meanwhile, Fiddlestick, Q.C., had been writing something on a strip of paper and handed to his leader, the Attorney-General (who, Mr. James Short saw with respectful admiration, had 500 guineas marked upon his brief). He nodded carelessly, and passed it on to his junior, who gave it in turn to the Solicitor-General and Playford, Q.C. When it had gone the rounds, Mr. News took it and showed it to his two privileged clients, Messrs. Addison and Roscoe. Addison was a choleric-looking, fat-faced man. Roscoe was sallow, and had a thin, straggly black beard. When they looked at it, Addison groaned fiercely as a wounded bull, and Roscoe sighed, and that sigh and groan told Augusta–who, womanlike, had all her wits about her, and was watching every act of the drama–more than it was meant to do. It told her that these gentlemen were doing something that they did not like, and doing it because they evidently believed that they had no other course open to them. Then Mr. News gave the paper to Mr. John Short, who glanced at it and handed it on to his brother, and Eustace read it over his shoulder. It was very short, and ran thus:–“Terms offered: Half the property, and defendants pay all costs.”

“Well, Short,” said Eustace, “what do you say, shall we take it?”

James removed his wig, and thoughtfully rubbed his bald head. “It is a very difficult position to be put in,” he said. “Of course a million is a large sum of money; but there are two at stake. My own view is that we had better fight the case out; though, of course, this is a certainty, and the result of the case is not.”

“I am inclined to settle,” said Eustace; “not because of the case, for I believe in it, but because of Augusta–of Miss Smithers: you see she will have to show the tattooing again, and that sort of thing is very unpleasant for a lady.”

“Oh, as to that,” said James loftily, “at present she must remember that she is not a lady, but a legal document. However, let us ask her.”

“Now, Augusta, what shall we do?” said Eustace, when he had explained the offer; “you see, if we take the offer you will be spared a very disagreeable time. You must make up your mind quick, for the Judge will be here in a minute.”

“Oh, never mind me,” said Augusta, quickly; “I am used to disagreeables. No, I shall fight, I tell you they are afraid of you. I can see it in the face of that horrid Mr. Addison. Just now he positively glared at me and ground his teeth, and he would not do that if he thought that he was going to win. No, dear; I shall fight it out now.”

“Very well,” said Eustace, and he took a pencil and wrote, “Declined with thanks,” at the foot of the offer.

Just at that moment there came a dull roar from the passage beyond. The doors of the court were being opened. Another second, and in rushed and struggled a hideous sea of barristers. Heavens, how they fought and kicked! A maddened herd of buffaloes could not have behaved more desperately. On rushed the white wave of wigs, bearing the strong men who hold the door before them like wreckage on a breaker. On they came and in forty seconds the court was crowded to its utmost capacity, and still there were hundreds of white wigged men behind. It was a fearful scene.

“Good gracious!” thought Augusta to herself, “how on earth do they all get a living?” a question that many of them would have found it hard enough to answer.

Then suddenly an old gentleman near her, whom she discovered to be the usher, jumped up and called “Silence!” in commanding accents, without producing much effect, however, on the palpitating mass of humanity in front. Then in came the officers of the Court; and a moment afterwards, everybody rose as the Judge entered, and, looking, as Augusta thought, very cross when he saw the crowded condition of the court, bowed to the bar and took his seat.

CHAPTER XX.

JAMES BREAKS DOWN.

The Registrar, not Augusta’s dear doctor Probate, but another Registrar, rose and called on the case of Meeson v. Addison, and Another, and in an instant the wretched James Short was on his legs to open the case.

“What is that gentleman’s name?” Augusta heard the Judge ask of the clerk, after making two or three frantic efforts to attract his attention–a proceeding that the position of his desk rendered very difficult.

“Short, my Lord.”

“Do you appear alone for the plaintiff, Mr. Short?” asked the Judge, with emphasis.

“Yes, my Lord, I do,” answered James, and as he said it every pair of eyes in that crowded assembly fixed themselves upon him, and a sort of audible smile seemed to run round the court. The thing not unnaturally struck the professional mind as ludicrous and without precedent.

“And who appears for the defendant?”

“I understand, my Lord,” said the learned Attorney-General, “that all my learned friends on these two benches appear together, with myself, for one or other of the defendants, or are watching the case in the interest of legatees.”

Here a decided titter interrupted him.

“I may add that the interests involved in this case are very large indeed, which accounts for the number of counsel connected in one way or other with the defence.”

“Quite so, Mr. Attorney,” said the Judge: “but, really, the forces seem a little out of proportion. Of course the matter is not one in which the Court can interfere.”

“If your Lordship will allow me,” said James, “the only reason that the plaintiff is so poorly represented is that the funds to brief other council were, I understand, not forthcoming. I am, however, well versed in the case and, with your Lordship’s permission, will do my best with it.”

“Very well, Mr. Short,” said the learned Judge, looking at him almost with pity, “state your case.”

James–in the midst of a silence that could be felt–unfolded his pleadings, and, as he did so, for the first time a sickening sense of nervousness took hold of him and made him tremble, and, of a sudden, his mind became dark. Most of us have undergone this sensation at one time or another, with less cause then had poor James. There he was, put up almost for the first time in his life to conduct, single-handed, a most important case, upon which it was scarcely too much to say the interest of the entire country was concentrated. Nor was this all. Opposed to him were about twenty counsel, all of them men of experience, and including in their ranks some of the most famous leaders in England: and, what was more, the court was densely crowded with scores of men of his own profession, every one of whom was, he felt, regarding him with curiosity not unmixed with pity. Then, there was the tremendous responsibility which literally seemed to crush him, though he had never quite realised it before.

“May it please your Lordship,” he began; and then, as I have said, his mind became a ghastly blank, in which dim and formless ideas flitted vaguely to and fro.

There was a pause–a painful pause.

“Read your pleadings aloud,” whispered a barrister who was sitting next him, and realised his plight.

This was an idea. One can read pleadings when one cannot collect one’s ideas to speak. It is not usual to do so. The counsel in a cause states the substance of the pleadings, leaving the Court to refer to them if it thinks necessary. But still there was nothing absolutely wrong about it; so he snatched at the papers and promptly began:

“(I.) The plaintiff is the sole and universal legatee under the true last will of Jonathan Meeson, deceased, late of Pompadour Hall, in the County of Warwick, who died on the 23rd of December, 1885, the said will being undated, but duly executed on, or subsequent to, the 22nd day of December, 1885.”

Here the learned Judge lifted his eyebrows in remonstrance, and cleared his throat preparatory to interfering; but apparently thought better of it, for he took up a blue pencil and made a note of the date of the will.

“(II.),” went on James. “On the 21st day of May, 1886, probate of an alleged will of the said Jonathan Meeson was granted to the defendants, the said will bearing date the 10th day of November, 1885. The plaintiff claims–

“(1.) That the court shall revoke probate of the said alleged will of the said Jonathan Meeson, bearing date the 10th day of November, 1885, granted to the defendants on the 21st day of May, 1886.

“(2.) A grant of letters of administration to the plaintiff with the will executed on or subsequent to the 22nd day of December,1885, annexed. (Signed) JAMES SHORT.”

“May it please your Lordship.” James began, again feeling dimly that he had read enough pleadings, “the defendants have filed an answer pleading that the will of the 22nd of December was not duly executed in accordance with the statute, and that the testator did not know and approve its contents, and an amended answer pleading that the said alleged will, if executed, was obtained by the undue influence of Augusta Smithers”–and once more his nervousness overcame him, and he pulled up with a jerk.

Then came another pause even more dreadful than the first.

The Judge took another note, as slowly as he could, and once more cleared his throat; but poor James could not go on. He could only wish that he might then and there expire, rather than face the hideous humiliation of such a failure. But he would have failed, for his very brain was whirling like that of a drunken man, had it not been for an occurrence that caused him for ever after to bless the name of Fiddlestick, Q.C., as the name of an eminent counsel is not often blessed in this ungrateful world. For Fiddlestick, Q.C., who, it will be remembered, was one of the leaders for the defendants, had been watching his unfortunate antagonist, till, realising how sorry was his plight, a sense of pity filled his learned breast. Perhaps he may have remembered some occasion, in the dim and distant corner of the past, when he had suffered from a similar access of frantic terror, or perhaps he may have been sorry to think that a young man should lose such an unrivalled opportunity of making a name. Anyhow, he did a noble act. As it happened, he was sitting at the right-hand corner of the Queen’s counsel seats, and piled upon the desk before him was a tremendous mass of law reports which his clerk had arranged there, containing cases to which it might become necessary to refer. Now, in the presence of these law reports, Mr. Fiddlestick, in the goodness of his heart, saw an opportunity of creating a diversion, and he created it with a vengeance. For, throwing his weight suddenly forward as though by accident, or in a movement of impatience, he brought his bent arm against the pile with such force, that he sent every book, and there must have been more than twenty of them, over the desk, right on to the head and shoulders of his choleric client, Mr. Addison, who was sitting immediately beneath, on the solicitors’ bench.

Down went the books with a crash and a bang, and, carried away by their weight, down went Mr. Addison on to his nose among them–a contingency that Fiddlestick, Q.C., by-the-way, had not foreseen, for he had overlooked the fact of his client’s vicinity.

The Judge made an awful face, and then, realising the ludicrous nature of the scene, his features relaxed into a smile. But Mr. Addison did not smile. He bounded up off the floor, books slipping off his back in every direction, and, holding his nose (which was injured) with one hand, came skipping right at his learned adviser.

“You did it on purpose!” he almost shouted, quite forgetting where he was; “just let me get at him, I’ll have his wig off!” and then, without waiting for any more, the entire audience burst out into a roar of laughter, which, however, unseemly, was perfectly reasonable; during which Mr. Fiddlestick could be seen apologising in dumb show, with a bland smile upon his countenance, while Mr. News and Mr. Roscoe between them dragged the outraged Addison to his seat, and proffered him handkerchiefs to wipe his bleeding nose.

James saw the whole thing, and forgetting his position, laughed too; and, for some mysterious reason, with the laugh his nervousness passed away.

The usher shouted “Silence!” with tremendous energy, and before the sound had died away James was addressing the Court in a clear and vigorous voice, conscious that he was a thorough master of his case, and the words to state it in would not fail him. Fiddlestick, Q.C., had saved him!

“May it please your Lordship,” he began, “the details of this case are of as remarkable an order as any that to my knowledge have been brought before the Court. The plaintiff, Eustace Meeson, is the sole next-of-kin of Jonathan Meeson, Esquire, the late head of the well known Birmingham publishing firm of Meeson, Addison, and Roscoe. Under a will, bearing date the 8th of May, 1880, the plaintiff was left sole heir to the great wealth of his uncle–that is, with the exception of some legacies. Under a second will, now relied on by the defendants, and dated the 10th November, 1885, the plaintiff was entirely disinherited, and the present defendants, together with some six or eight legatees, were constituted the sole beneficiaries. On or about the 22nd December, 1885, however, the testator executed a third testamentary document under which the plaintiff takes the entire property, and this is the document now propounded. This testamentary document, or, rather, will–for I submit that it is in every sense a properly executed will–is tattooed upon the shoulders”–(Sensation in the court)–“is tattooed upon the shoulders of a young lady, Miss Augusta Smithers, who will presently be called before your Lordship; and to prevent any misunderstanding, I may as well at once state that since this event this lady has become engaged to be married to the plaintiff (Renewed sensation.)

“Such, my Lord, are the main outlines of the case that I have to present for the consideration of the Court, which I think your Lordship will understand is of so remarkable and unprecedented a nature that I must crave your Lordship’s indulgence if I proceed to open it at some length, beginning the history at its commencement.”

By this time James Short had completely recovered his nerve, and was, indeed, almost oblivious of the fact that there was anybody present in the court, except the learned Judge and himself. Going back to the beginning, he detailed the early history of the relationship between Eustace Meeson and his uncle, the publisher, with which this record has nothing to do. Thence he passed to the history of Augusta’s relation with the firm of Meeson and Co., which, as nearly everybody in the court, not excepting the Judge, had read “Jemima’s Vow,” was very interesting to his auditors. Then he went on to the scene between Augusta and the publisher, and detailed how Eustace had interfered, which interference had led to a violent quarrel, resulting in the young man’s disinheritance. Passing on, he detailed how the publisher and the published had taken passage in the same vessel, and the tragic occurrences which followed down to Augusta’s final rescue and arrival in England, and finally ended his spirited opening by appealing to the Court not to allow its mind to be influenced by the fact that since these events the two chief actors had become engaged to be married, which struck him, he said, as a very fitting climax to so romantic a story.

At last he ceased, and amidst a little buzz of applause, for the speech had really been a very fine one, sat down. As he did so he glanced at the clock. He had been on his legs for nearly two hours, and yet it seemed to him but a very little while. In another moment he was up again and had called his first witness–Eustace Meeson.

Eustace’s evidence was of a rather formal order, and was necessarily limited to an account of the relations between his uncle and himself, and between himself and Augusta. Such as it was, however, he gave it very well, and with a complete openness that appeared to produce a favorable impression on the Court.

Then Fiddlestick, Q.C., rose to cross-examine, devoting his efforts to trying to make Eustace admit that his behaviour had been of a nature to amply justify his uncle’s behaviour. But there was not very much to be made out of it. Eustace detailed all that had passed freely enough, and it simply amounted to the fact that there had been angry words between the two as regards the treatment that Augusta had met with at the hands of the firm. In short, Fiddlestick could not do anything with him, and, after ten minutes of it, sat down without having advanced the case to any appreciable extent. Then several of the other counsel asked a question or two apiece, after which Eustace was told to stand down, and Lady Holmhurst was called. Lady Holmhurst’s evidence was very short, merely amounting to the fact that she had seen Augusta’s shoulders on board the Kangaroo, and that there was not then a sign of tattoo marks upon them, and when she saw them again in London they were tattooed. No attempt was made to cross-examine her, and on the termination of her evidence, the Court adjourned for lunch. When it reassembled James Short called Augusta, and a murmur of expectation arose from the densely crowded audience, as–feeling very sick at heart, and looking more beautiful than ever–she stepped towards the box.

As she did so the Attorney-General rose.

“I must object, my Lord,” he said, “on behalf of the defendants, to this witness being allowed to enter the box.”

“Upon what grounds, Mr. Attorney?” said his Lordship.

“Upon the ground that her mouth is, _ipso facto_, closed. If we are to believe the plaintiff’s story, this young lady is herself the will of Jonathan Meeson, and, being so, is certainly, I submit, not competent to give evidence. There is no precedent for a document giving evidence, and I presume that the witness must be looked upon as a document.”

“But, Mr. Attorney,” said the Judge, “a document is evidence, and evidence of the best sort.”

“Undoubtedly, my Lord; and we have no objection to the document being exhibited for the court to draw its own conclusion from, but we deny that it is entitled to speak in its own explanation. A document is a thing which speaks by its written characters. It cannot take to itself a tongue, and speak by word of mouth also; and, in support of this, I may call your Lordship’s attention to the general principles of law governing the interpretation of written documents.”

“I am quite aware of those principles, Mr. Attorney, and I cannot see that they touch this question.”

“As your Lordship pleases. Then I will fall back upon my main contention, that Miss Smithers is, for the purposes of this case, a document and nothing but a document, and has no more right to open her mouth in support of the plaintiff’s case, than would any paper will, if it could be miraculously endowed with speech.”

“Well,” said the Judge, “it certainly strikes me as a novel point. What have you to say to it, Mr. Short?”

All eyes were now turned upon James, for it was felt that if the point was decided against him the case was lost.

“The point to which I wish you to address yourself, Mr. Short,” went on the learned Judge, “is–Is the personality of Miss Smithers so totally lost and merged in what, for want of a better term I must call her documentary capacity, as to take away from her the right to appear before this Court like any other sane human being, and give evidence of events connected with its execution?”

“If your Lordship pleases,” said James, “I maintain that this is not so. I maintain that the document remains the document; and that for all purposes, including the giving of evidence concerning its execution, Miss Smithers still remains Miss Smithers. It would surely be absurd to argue that because a person has a deed executed upon her she was, _ipso facto_, incapacitated from giving evidence concerning it, on the mere ground that she was _it_. Further, such a decision would be contrary to equity and good policy, for persons could not so lightly be deprived of their natural rights. Also, in this case, the plaintiff’s action would be absolutely put an end to by any such decision, seeing that the signature of Jonathan Meeson and the attesting witnesses to the will could not, of course, be recognised in their tattooed form, and there is no other living person who could depose under what circumstances the signature came to be there. I submit that the objection should be overruled.”

“This,” said his Lordship, in giving his decision “is a very curious point, and one which, when first raised by the learned Attorney-General, struck me with some force; but, on considering it and hearing Mr. Short, I am convinced that it is an objection that cannot be supported” (here Eustace gave a sigh of relief). “It is argued on the part of the defendant that Miss Smithers is, for the purposes of this case a document, a document, and nothing but a document, and as such that her mouth is shut. Now, I think that the learned Attorney-General cannot have thought this matter out when he came to that conclusion. What are the circumstances? A will is supposed to have been tattooed upon this lady’s skin; but is the skin the whole person? Does not the intelligence remain, and the individuality? I think that I can put what I mean more clearly by means of an illustration. Let us suppose that I were to uphold the defendant’s objection, and that, as a consequence, the plaintiff’s case were to break down. Then let us suppose that the plaintiff had persuaded the witness to be partially skinned”–(here Augusta nearly jumped from her seat)–“and that she, having survived the operation, was again tendered to the court as a witness, would the Court then be able, under any possibility, to refuse to accept her evidence? The document, in the form of human parchment, would then be in the hands of the officers of the Court, and the person from whom the parchment had been removed, would also be before the Court. Could it be still maintained that the two were so identical and inseparable that the disabilities attaching to a document must necessarily attach to the person? In my opinion, certainly not. Or, to take another case, let us suppose that the will had been tattooed upon the leg of a person, and, under similar circumstances, the leg were cut off and produced before the Court, either in a flesh or a mummified condition; could it then be seriously advanced that because the inscribed leg–standing on the table before the Court–had once belonged to the witness sitting in the witness-box, therefore it was not competent for the witness to give evidence on account of his or her documentary attributes? Certainly it could not. Therefore, it seems to me that that which is separable must, for the purpose of law, be taken as already separated, and that the will on the back of this witness must be looked upon as though it were in the hands at this moment, of the officers of the Court, and consequently I overrule the objection.”

“Will your Lordship take a note of your Lordship’s decision?” asked the Attorney-General in view of an appeal.

“Certainly, Mr. Attorney. Let this witness be sworn.”

CHAPTER XXI.

GRANT AS PRAYED.

Accordingly, Augusta was sworn, and Eustace observed that when she removed her veil to kiss the Book the sight of her sweet face produced no small effect upon the crowded court.

Then James began his examination in chief, and, following the lines which he had laid down in his opening speech, led her slowly, whilst allowing her to tell her own story as much as possible, to the time of the tattooing of the will on Kerguelen Land. All along, the history had evidently interested everybody in the court–not excepting the Judge–intensely; but now the excitement rose to boiling point.

“Well,” said James, “tell his Lordship exactly how it came to pass that the will of Mr. Meeson was tattooed upon your shoulders.”

In quiet but dramatic language Augusta accordingly narrated every detail, from the time when Meeson confided to her his remorse at having disinherited his nephew up to the execution of the will at her suggestion by the sailor upon her own shoulders.

“And now, Miss Smithers,” said James, when she had done, “I am very sorry to have to do so; but I must ask you to exhibit the document to the Court.”

Poor Augusta coloured and her eyes filled with tears, as she slowly undid the dust-cloak which hid her shoulders (for, of course, she had come in low dress). The Judge, looking up sharply, observed her natural distress.

“If you prefer it, Miss Smithers,” said his Lordship, courteously, “I will order the court to be cleared of every-one except those who are actually engaged in the case.”

At these ominous words a shudder of disgust passed through the densely-packed ranks. It would indeed, they felt, after all their