found the managing chancery clerk to be a very chatty gentleman. Judging from what he saw, he would have said that the work to be done at Messrs. Slow and Bideawhile's was not very heavy.
'A singular man that Sir Louis,' said the chancery clerk.
'Yes; very singular,' said Frank.
'Excellent security, excellent; no better: and yet he will foreclose; but you see he has no power himself. But the question is, can the trustee refuse? Then, again, trustees are so circumstanced now-a-days that they are afraid to do anything. There has been so much said lately, Mr. Gresham, that a man doesn't know where he is, or what he is doing. Nobody trusts anybody. There have been such terrible things that we can't wonder at it. Only think of the case of those Hills! How can any one expect that any one else will ever trust a lawyer again after that? But that's Mr. Bideawhile's bell. How can any one expect it? He will see you now, I dare say, Mr. Gresham.'
So it turned out, and Frank was ushered into the presence of Mr. Bideawhile. He had got his lesson by heart, and was going to rush into the middle of his subject; such a course, however, was not in accordance with Mr. Bideawhile's usual practice. Mr. Bideawhile got up from his large wooden-seated Windsor chair, and, with a soft smile, in which, however, was mingled some slight dash of the attorney's acuteness, put out his hand to his young client; not, indeed, as though he were going to shake hands with him, but as though the hand were some ripe fruit all but falling, which his visitor might take and pluck if he thought proper. Frank took hold of the hand, which returned him no pressure, and then let it go again, not making any attempt to gather the fruit.
'I have come up to town, Mr. Bideawhile, about this mortgage,' commenced Frank.
'Mortgage—ah, sit down, Mr. Gresham; sit down. I hope your father is quite well.'
'Quite well, thank you.'
'I have a great regard for your father. So I had for your grandfather; a very good man indeed. You, perhaps, don't remember him, Mr. Gresham?'
'He died when I was only a year old.'
'Oh, yes; no, you of course can't remember him; but I do, well: he used to be very fond of some port wine I had. I think it was "11;" and if I don't mistake, I have a bottle or two of it yet; but it is not worth drinking now. Port wine, you know, won't keep beyond a certain time. That was very good wine. I don't exactly remember what it stood me a dozen then; but
