"A good lawyer will, in consultation with his client, clear away all superfluous matter, leaving nothing but what is necessary for the counsel to know." "Yes, my sod, same as we first of all get rid of the refuse from a skin." "Exactly, father," said Luke, smiling; "for clients often think matters of great moment that are worthless in a court of law." "To be sure, yes; people will talk too much, my boy, I know," said the old man. "Why, Lukey, how I should like to hear you laying down the law in your wig and gown, my boy. How you must give it to 'em. I've read about you in the newspaper. Old Mr Mallow always brings one to me when he sees your name in, and shakes hands with me; and the tears come in the old fellow's eyes as he says to me with a sigh, `Ah, Mr Ross, I wish I had had such a son.'" "Why, father," said Luke, smiling, and seeming himself once more, "it is a good job that you don't live near me." "Don't say that, my boy," said the old man, looking quite aghast. "I--I was thinking how nice it would be if I could get nearer to you." "You'd spoil me with flattery," said Luke. "Nay, nay, my boy," said the old man, seriously. "I never told you aught but the truth, and if I saw a fault I'd out with it directly." "You always were the best of fathers," cried Luke, clasping the old man's hand. "And--and I thank God, my boy, for His blessings on my old age," quavered the old man, with the weak tears in his eyes--"You were always the best of sons." They sat hand clasped in hand for a few moments, and then the old man said softly-- "God will bless you for your goodness to that poor woman, my boy. I know it has been a hard fight, but you have won. It is heaping coals of fire on your enemy's head to do good to him, and maybe afterwards Cyril Mallow may repent. But, Luke, my boy," he cried, cheerfully, "I'm a stupid old man, only you must humour me." "How, father?" "Let me see you, just for a minute, in your wig and gown." "Nonsense, father!" "But I should like it, my boy." Luke rose to humour him, putting on wig and gown, and making the old man rub his hands with gratification as he gazed at the clear, intelligent face, with its deeply set, searching eyes. "I'll be bound to say you puzzle and frighten some of them, my boy," said the old man. "And that's a brief, is it?" "Yes, father," said Luke, smiling down on the old man, so full of childlike joy. "Ah, yes," said the old man, putting on a pair of broad-rimmed spectacles, and then reading--"Jones _versus_ Lancaster." "Hah! yes, nicely written; better than this fifty gs. What does that mean?" "Fifty guineas, father." "Indeed! And which was it, Jones or Lancaster, who stole the fifty guineas?" "Neither, father. That is a common-pleas case of some importance, and the fifty guineas is my fee." "Your fee?" cried the old man. "You don't mean to tell me that you get fifty-two pounds ten shillings, my boy, for your fee?"