with such posters, announcing
sales by auction, farms to be let, houses to be had on lease, shares in a
local bank or gasworks for sale, and so on, for all of which properties
the firm are the legal representatives. Though the room is of fair size
the ceiling is low, as in often the case in old houses, and it has, in
consequence, become darkened by smoke and dust, therein, after awhile,
giving a gloomy, oppressive feeling to any one who has little else to gaze
at. The blind at the window rises far too high to allow of looking out,
and the ground glass above it was designed to prevent the clerks from
wasting their time watching the passers-by in the street. There is,
however, one place where the glass is worn and transparent, and every now
and then one of the two younger clerks mounts on his stool and takes a
peep through to report to his companion.

The restraint arising from the presence of a stranger soon wears off; the
whisper rises to a buzz of talk; they laugh, and pelt each other with
pellets of paper. The older clerk takes not the least heed. He writes
steadily on, and never lifts his head from the paper--long hours of labour
have dimmed his sight, and he has to stoop close over the folio. He may be
preparing a brief, he may be copying a deposition, or perhaps making a
copy of a deed; but whatever it is, his whole mind is absorbed and
concentrated on his pen. There must be no blot, no erasure, no
interlineation. The hand of the clock moves slowly, and the half-heard
talk and jests of the junior clerks--one of whom you suspect of making a
pen-and-ink sketch of you--mingle with the ceaseless scrape of the
senior's pen, and the low buzz of two black flies that circle for ever
round and round just beneath the grimy ceiling. Occasionally noises of the
street penetrate; the rumble of loaded waggons, the tramp of nailed shoes,
or the sharp quick sound of a trotting horse's hoofs. Then the junior
jumps up and gazes through the peephole. The directors are a very long
time upstairs. What can their business be? Why are there directors at all
in little country towns?

Presently there are heavy footsteps in the passage, the door slowly opens,
and an elderly labourer, hat in hand, peers in. No one takes the least
notice of him. He leans on his stick and blinks his eyes, looking all
round the room; then taps with the stick and clears his throat--'Be he in
yet?' he asks, with emphasis on the 'he.' 'No, he be not in,' replies a