etrieved his alpenstock from
the stick-house, Godfrey trudged back to the station, where he picked
up his luggage and departed for London. Arriving at Liverpool Street
rather late, he went to the Great Eastern Hotel, and after a good meal,
which he needed, slept like a top. His reception in England had been
bitter, but the young soon shake off their troubles, from which,
indeed, the loving kindness of his dear old nurse already had extracted
the sting.

On the following morning, while breakfasting at a little table by one
of the pillars of the big dining-room, he began to wonder what he
should do next. In his pocket he had a notebook, in which, at the
suggestion of the Pasteur, he had set down the address of the lawyers
who had written to him about his legacy. It was in a place called the
Poultry, which, on inquiry from the hall-porter, he discovered was
quite close by the Mansion House.

So a while later, for the porter told him that it was no use to go to
see lawyers too early, he sallied forth, and after much search
discovered the queer spot called the Poultry, also the offices of
Messrs. Ranson, Richards and Son. Here he gave his name to a clerk, who
thrust a very oily head out of a kind of mahogany box, and was told
that Mr. Ranson was engaged, but that, if he cared to wait, perhaps he
would see him later on. He said he would wait, and was shown into a
stuffy little room, furnished with ancient deed-boxes and a very large,
old leather-covered sofa that took up half the place. Here he sat for a
while, staring at a square of dirty glass which gave what light was
available, and reflecting upon things in general.

While he was thus engaged he heard a kind of tumult outside, in which
he recognised the treble of the oily-headed clerk coming in a bad
second to a deep, bass voice. Then the door opened and a big, burly
man, with a red face and a jovial, rolling eye, appeared with startling
suddenness and ejaculated:

"Damn Ranson, damn Richards, or damn them both, with the Son thrown in!
I ask you, young man"--here he addressed Godfrey seated on the corner
of the sofa--"what is the use of a firm of lawyers whom you can never
see? You pay the brutes, but three times out of four they are not
visible, or, as I suspect, pretend not to be, in order to enhance their
own importance. And I sent them a telegram, too, having a train to
catch. What do you think?"

"I don't know, Sir," Godfrey answered. "I never came to a lawyer'