ind it agree with me
surprisingly: quite a new man. I suppose it will last our time. It must!
What should we do? There's no Law possible without it. Not a lawyer of us
could live. Ours is an occupation which dries the blood."

The scene with Ripton had unnerved him, the wine had renovated, and
gratitude to the wine inspired his tongue. He thought that his client, of
the whimsical mind, though undoubtedly correct moral views, had need of a
glass.

"Now that very wine--Sir Austin--I think I do not err in saying, that
very wine your respected father, Sir Pylcher Feverel, used to taste
whenever he came to consult my father, when I was a boy. And I remember
one day being called in, and Sir Pylcher himself poured me out a glass. I
wish I could call in Ripton now, and do the same. No! Leniency in such a
case as that!--The wine would not hurt him--I doubt if there be much left
for him to welcome his guests with. Ha! ha! Now if I could persuade you,
Sir Austin, as you do not take wine before dinner, some day to favour me
with your company at my little country cottage I have a wine there--the
fellow to that--I think you would, I do think you would"--Mr. Thompson
meant to say, he thought his client would arrive at something of a
similar jocund contemplation of his fellows in their degeneracy that
inspirited lawyers after potation, but condensed the sensual promise into
"highly approve."

Sir Austin speculated on his legal adviser with a sour mouth comically
compressed.

It stood clear to him that Thompson before his Port, and Thompson after,
were two different men. To indoctrinate him now was too late: it was
perhaps the time to make the positive use of him he wanted.

He pencilled on a handy slip of paper: "Two prongs of a fork; the World
stuck between them--Port and the Palate: 'Tis one which fails first--Down
goes World;" and again the hieroglyph--"Port-spectacles." He said, "I
shall gladly accompany you this evening, Thompson," words that
transfigured the delighted lawyer, and ensigned the skeleton of a great
Aphorism to his pocket, there to gather flesh and form, with numberless
others in a like condition.

"I came to visit my lawyer," he said to himself. "I think I have been
dealing with The World in epitome!"

CHAPTER XVIII

The rumour circulated that Sir Austin Feverel, the recluse of Raynham,
the rank misogynist, the rich baronet, was in town, looking out a bride
for his only son and uncorrupted heir. Doct