"I shall leave the drawing-up of the contract until my return. I am now going out to luncheon. I may be a little longer than usual because, incidentally, I shall select a silver utensil for one Michael Joseph O'Connor, Junior, and give directions in regard to a suitable inscription to be thereupon engraved." As he opened the door to leave the office, out broke his pleasant laugh, and I heard it continuing for some moments after the sound of his foot-fall upon the stone hallway had died out in the distance. It must have been two months after this—indeed, I am sure it was in August, because Mr. Cutting was away on his vacation, and I was alone in the office—that O'Connor called again. I should state, though, in passing, that he had called once in the meantime to thank Mr. Cutting for a certain silver mug, duly inscribed: MICHAEL JOSEPH O'CONNOR, JUNIOR FROM HIS AND HIS GRANDFATHER'S FRIEND HENRY HARTWELL CUTTING. I have an idea, although I have no word or proof of any kind to uphold it, that O'Connor regarded the omission of "_Esq._" after "_Cutting_" as an oversight. Still, he was royally pleased by the gift, and assured Mr. Cutting it should be kept with the greatest care among the most cherished of the family possessions, and at this point, I remember, Mr. Cutting had occasion again to advise his client, and to the effect that if the "little felly" were not to make actual, daily use of the gift—not only as a utensil, but also to bite, pound, dent and treat at will—he, the "little felly," would never acquire real affection for it. Mr. Cutting further explained that it was from such treatment and familiarity real affection sprang; and that he wanted the recipient to come to love the gift—and the giver, too, perhaps, some day. This advice the client accepted with entire faith in its wisdom; as a good client should always accept advice from a good counsellor. But all this was during O'Connor's intermediate visit—not at the time to which I refer. That time was on a very hot day in August; in fact, it was, as O'Connor tersely put it, when he had seated himself beside me, "too hot altogither." "Mr. Cutting is away, sor?" was his next remark, made with an inflection that showed it to be not only a statement but an interrogatory as well, intended to serve as an introduction to matters of import. I replied, accordingly: "Yes, Mr. Cutting is on his vacation. Is there anything _I_ can do for you?" O'Connor's method of approach melted at once into complete confidence. You may well imagine my pleasure at being consulted, as follows, in my senior's absence: