THE GREEN BAG
AN OLD FASHIONED LAW OFFICE BY GEOKGE PROBABLY, among all the tenacious adherence to custom and precedent in the business methods of Great Britain, which are fast relegating that nation to a second place in the commercialism of the world, the cobwebs cling more jealously to the habits of lawyers and the practice of law than to any other business or profession . Scarcely two decades have passed since I was an office boy, or junior, for a law firm in London. I say "law firm" advisedly, for although there was but one member still living, the old firm name, " Pierce, Boulton and Fielding," remained in sprawl ing letters across the heavy oak, outer door. The senior partner had been dead for forty years — the junior partner, twelve years. The surviving partner, Mr. Boulton, - a gentleman of the old school, was tall and of imposing appearance. With unbending dignity and unfailing courtesy he charmed and awed all with whom he came in contact. Of the most scrupulous honor himself, his detestation of "shyster" lawyers was as strong and as strongly expressed as of the meanest criminal. The business of the firm was not exten sive, but was of the highest grade. The cli ents were almost entirely members of the nobility, or of great county families. The business was confined to conveyancing, the making of wills, the private adjustment of grievous family difficulties, the locking of skeletons in closets, the dreary guidance of interminable chancery suits, with now and then the lighter human touch of marriage settlements or guardianship adjustments. No collecting of debts nor prosecuting of criminals was ever permitted to mingle with the dust-laden secrets of land and title. Such cases were invariably handed over to a newer and less fastidious generation of solicitors. Down one side of the outer office were the clerks' desks, built of massive oak, black as
CARLING ebony and carved with many initials of former generations of clerks. These desks were in pairs, the occupants facing each other, and each pair was surrounded by a paneled partition six feet in height, with a narrow door for each clerk. Inside this enclosure, in contented seclusion, they passed no little portion of their time in play ing cards and making bets on the races. There were four of these men, the chief clerk occupying an exclusive pen, although he by no means confined himself to it, but frequently joined in a quiet, friendly game with the others, or threw his shilling or half crown into a pool on the "Derby" or the "Oaks." If the "Governor," as Mr. Boulton ^with out any meaning of disrespect was called, emerged from his private office, which he very rarely did, or a client pulled open the heavy door, which was about as rare an occurrence, a square yard of parchment, covered with legal phraseology, and with the words, "THIS INDENTURE WITXESSETH," written in bold, old English letters across the upper left-hand corner, would be quickly pulled over the cards, and the talk in the ancient room as suddenly shifted to "Escheats and demesnes, entails and en cumbrances." In the corner of the room, by the chief clerk's pen, stood a tall marble pedestal surmounted by a discolored bust of Blackstone, upon which Mr. Robbins invariably deposited his silk hat. To me it was one of the mysteries of this weird office that the Governor would permit this sacrilege of the eminent jurist's bust. It was in plain sight, but he never appeared to notice it. Robbins said that it had been used as a hat-rack for many years, and expressed the opinion that the Governor would be displeased if the old-time procedure were discontinued. Along the other side of the room was a
