During the period when he had read Roman law and knocked about the Courts with the hope of supplementing his income by the experience he picked up there, the technicalities of the law had bored him to excruciation point. Now, when they were brought specially to bear on him he found them more galling still, but being a wise man in his way, he shirked none of them, and took good care not to take a solitary step in the dark, till, by the time they had got him off their hands, the solicitors of the Stranges were in a position to congratulate themselves at last, on the fact of having found a whole man in the family. He had gone the rounds of his duties doggedly and had found them insufferably dull, he had been down to Strange Hall, had left things there in trim, and had now flown back to London. One afternoon in June he was standing in the shadow of a deep window, in one of his rooms in Piccadilly, lazily sharpening a pencil. He had plenty of work to do, but somehow he had no stomach for it, the change in his life had got into his bones, and had filled him with unrest and a certain loss of faith in himself. When at last after a long meditation, the truth of this broke upon him, it came with an audible and ample, “Damn!” “I may as well give it up and amuse myself in a mild way,” he thought, after a hasty review of matters, “nothing can be too weak and vapid for my present condition—I feel flabby.” A mild grunt at his back made him swing round. It was Tolly, just back from the dentist, of a deeper puce than usual, and with a terrible uncompromising row of glistening teeth shooting out aggressively between his thin lips. He gave a deferential duck, and stood on approval, with a laboured attempt at an appearance of modest deprecation. “Turn round, Tolly,” said his master, “away from me, I can’t bear it all at once!” He was shaking with silent laughter. “How do you feel about them yourself, Tolly?” “Fust-rate, sir—your wussup.” Since his master’s rise in life he was much exercised as to the best terms by which to give him honour, and he varied them daily. “I can bite nails, your wussup.” “Ah! You mustn’t play fast and loose with these tusks as you might with ones bred and reared on the premises.” “Lord! your wussup, I wouldn’t make that free, being, as they are your property, sir, besides, any fool can see as how they be the real bought article, money down, not your everyday common grinders. There weren’t a toff I met as didn’t mention ’em, I tried to keep ’em dark, sir.” “I shall expect a good deal more from you,” said Strange, pointing the moral, “now you’re complete. If anyone calls to-day say I’m out and I won’t be home till night, and—take these to the post before I start,” he pointed to a big heap of notes on the table, “and don’t drop any of them, nor swallow your teeth.