THE SOLICITOR

In glancing along the street of a country town, a house may sometimes be
observed of a different and superior description to the general row of
buildings. It is larger, rises higher, and altogether occupies more space.
The facade is stylish, in architectural fashion of half a century since.
To the modern eye it may not perhaps look so interesting as the true old
gabled roofs which seem so thoroughly English, nor, on the other hand, so
bright and cheerful as the modern suburban villa. But it is substantial
and roomy within. The weather has given the front a sombre hue, and the
windows are dingy, as if they rarely or never knew the care of a
housemaid. On the ground floor the windows that would otherwise look on to
the street are blocked to almost half their height with a wire blind so
closely woven that no one can see in, and it is not easy to see out. The
doorway is large, with stone steps and porch--the doorway of a gentleman's
house. There is business close at hand--shops and inns, and all the usual
offices of a town--but, though in the midst, this house wears an air of
separation from the rest of the street.

When it was built--say fifty years ago, or more--it was, in fact, the
dwelling-house of an independent gentleman. Similar houses may be found in
other parts of the place, once inhabited by retired and wealthy people.
Such persons no longer live in towns of this kind--they build villas with
lawns and pleasure grounds outside in the environs, or, though still
retaining their pecuniary interest, reside at a distance. Like large
cities, country towns are now almost given over to offices, shops,
workshops, and hotels. Those who have made money get away from the streets
as quickly as possible. Upon approaching nearer to this particular
building the street door will be found to be wide open to the public, and,
if you venture still closer, a name may be seen painted in black letters
upon the side of the passage wall, after the manner of the brokers in the
courts off Throgmorton Street, or of the lawyers in the Temple. It is, in
fact, the office of a country solicitor--most emphatically one of Hodge's
many masters--and is admirably suited for his purpose, on account of its
roomy interior.

The first door within opens on the clerks' room, and should you modestly
knock on the panels instead of at once turning the handle, a voice will
invite you to 'Come in.' Half of the room is partitioned off for the