The Confessions of Artemas Quibble: Being the Ingenuous and Unvarnished History of Artemas Quibble, Esquire, One-Time Practitioner in the New York Criminal Courts, Together with an Account of the Divers Wiles, Tricks, Sophistries, Technicalities, and Sundry Artifices of Himself and Others of the Fraternity, Commonly Yclept "Shysters" or "Shyster Lawyers"Train, Arthur Cheney
General
The Confessions of Artemas Quibble: Being the Ingenuous and Unvarnished History of Artemas Quibble, Esquire, One-Time Practitioner in the New York Criminal Courts, Together with an Account of the Divers Wiles, Tricks, Sophistries, Technicalities, and Sundry Artifices of Himself and Others of the Fraternity, Commonly Yclept "Shysters" or "Shyster Lawyers"
Train, Arthur Cheney
Attorney and client -- Fiction; Legal stories; New York (N.Y.) -- Fiction
We drove on for a space, and now Hawkins awoke and began to clamor
for food. Where was I taking him? he demanded to know. And why
was I togged out like a bricklayer? He announced that he had had
enough of this kind of travelling and insisted on going to a hotel
and having a decent meal. I tried to reason with him and explained
that it was only for a day or so, and that presumably we would go
to Boston or some other city, where he should have everything that
money could buy. But he leered at me and said he had plenty of
promises already; that we had promised him that he would get into
no trouble if he signed his original affidavit, and that, unless
he were treated like a gentleman, he would go back to New York and
get other lawyers. He must have seen me turn white at his threat,
for from that moment he held it over me, constantly repeating it
and insinuating that I was not so anxious to save him as to save
myself, which, alas! I could not gainsay.
Soon we came to a small town and here Hawkins flatly refused to go
any farther. There was a hotel on the main street, and the fellow
clambered out of the buggy and staggered into the bar and called
loudly for whiskey. There was nothing for it but to put up the
horse in the stable and do as my prisoner demanded. So we had
dinner together, Hawkins talking in a loud, thick voice that made
the waitresses and other guests stare at him and me as if we were
some sort of outlandish folk; and after the meal was over he dragged
me to the nearest clothier and ordered new ready-made suits for
both of us. He had now imbibed much more than was good for him;
and when I took out my roll of bills to pay for what we had bought
he snatched it out of my hand and refused to give it back. For a
moment I almost surrendered myself to despair. I had had no sleep
for two nights, I was overwhelmed with mortification and disgust,
and here I was in a country store pranked out like a popinjay, the
keeper of a half-crazy wretch who made me dance to any tune he
chose to pipe; but I pulled myself together and cajoled Hawkins
into leaving the place and giving me back a small part of the money.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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