"Oh, some of them guys was here tryin’ to tout out a case; you know the kind. Frisby and Pennell, some of them dead ones. I s’pose they were lookin’ for a little notoriety." The unpleasant sensation Marriott felt at Archie’s recognition of his own notoriety was lost in the greater disgust that he had for the lawyers who were so anxious to share that notoriety. He knew how Frisby solicited such cases, how the poor and friendless prisoners eagerly grasped at the hopes he could so shamelessly hold out to them, how their friends and relatives mortgaged their homes, when they had them, or their furniture, or their labor in the future, to pay the fees he extorted. And he knew Pennell, the youth just out of law-school, who had the gift of the gab, and was an incorrigible spouter, having had the misfortune while in college to win a debate and to obtain a prize for oratory. His boundless conceit and assurance made up for his utter lack of knowledge of law, or of human nature, his utter lack of experience, or of sympathy. He had no principles, either, but merely a determination to get on in the world; he was ever for sale, and Marriott knew how his charlatanism would win, how soon he would be among the successful of the city. "I tell you, Archie," he was saying, "I can’t consent to represent you if either of these fellows is in the case." "Who? Them guys? Not much!" Archie puffed at his cigarette. "Not for me. I’m up against the real thing this time." He gave a little sardonic laugh. It was difficult to discuss the case to any purpose in that little closet with its dirt and darkness, and the repressing knowledge that some one was straining to hear what they would say. Marriott watched the spark of Archie’s cigarette glow and fade and glow and fade again. "We can’t talk here," said Archie. "You pull off my hearing as soon as possible, and get me out of here. When I get over to the pogey I’ll have a chance to turn around, and we can talk. Bring it on as soon’s you can, Mr. Marriott. Won’t you? God! It’s hell in that crum box, and those drunks snoring and snorting and havin’ the willies all night. Can’t you get it on to-morrow morning?" "Can we be ready by then?" "Oh, there’s nothin’ to it down here. We’ll waive." "We’ll see," said Marriott, with the professional dislike of permitting clients to dictate how their desperate affairs should be managed. "You see I don’t know the circumstances of the affair yet. All I know is what I’ve read in the papers." "Oh, well, to hell with them," said Archie. "Never mind what they say. They’re tryin’ to stick me for that Flanagan job. You know, Mr. Marriott, I didn’t have nothin’ to do with that, don’t you?" Archie leaned forward in an appeal that was irresistible, convincing. "Yes, I know that."