A loud whistle came from client number one. His feet descended to the floor.
“Guess we can’t close the deal,” he said, arising. “I cleaned up five hundred dollars in a little real estate dicker down in Susanville. I’d do anything I could to free the lady, but it out-sizes my pile.”
“Could you stand one thousand two hundred dollars?” asked the lawyer, insinuatingly.
“Five hundred is my limit, I tell you. Guess I’ll have to hunt up a cheaper lawyer.” The client put on his hat.
“Out this way, please,” said Lawyer Gooch, opening the door that led into the hallway.
As the gentleman flowed out of the compartment and down the stairs, Lawyer Gooch smiled to himself. “Exit Mr. Jessup,” he murmured, as he fingered the Henry Clay tuft of hair at his ear. “And now for the forsaken husband.” He returned to the middle office, and assumed a businesslike manner.
“I understand,” he said to client number three, “that you agree to pay one thousand dollars if I bring about, or am instrumental in bringing about, the return of Mrs. Billings to her home, and her abandonment of her infatuated pursuit of the man for whom she was conceived such a violent fancy. Also that the case is now unreservedly in my hands on that basis. Is that correct?”
“Entirely,” said the other, eagerly. “And I can produce the cash any time at two hours’ notice.”
Lawyer Gooch stood up at his full height. His thin figure seemed to expand. His thumbs sought the arm-
