Esquire Rock was fumbling over a miscellaneous collection of manuscripts one morning, when a rap was heard at the office door.
“Come in,” said the attorney, settling back in his chair.
The visiter opened the door at this invitation, and advanced.
“I am Esquire Rock,” answered that personage haughtily. “Be seated, sir. Business with me, sir?”
“My name is Merritt, sir. I am indorser with John Fields on Warden’s notes, and have called—”
“Yes, I know it,” interrupted the attorney, a scarcely perceptible, though dangerous smile playing upon his features—“and you will have them to pay.”
“I am aware that Mr. Warden has failed, but it will be impossible for me to pay the amount at present, and I have called to beg a little indulgence. Five thousand dollars is a large sum to raise, especially by a humble mechanic.”
“I have some property, Esquire Rock, but were I forced to sell immediately, it would bring but a fraction of its real value.”
“The law must take its course, sir,” said the attorney, decidedly; and he looked at Mr. Merritt, then at the door.
The mechanic understood the hint, and when he met the attorney’s glance, he saw no hope there.
“I had thought,” said he, “that the manner in which I became involved in this misfortune would entitle me to some slight favor at your hands—to a trifling delay by which I might avoid total ruin; but I perceive I am mistaken in looking for mercy here,” he added, bitterly.
Esquire Rock was utterly confounded at the man’s audacity. A poor mechanic to beard _him_—Isaac Rock, Esquire, counsellor at law, and notary public! The thing was unprecedented.
“_You_ thought!” exclaimed he, as soon as he had recovered sufficiently to reply. “Do you understand law, sir? You have no right to think, sir. The majesty of the law is trampled under foot when mechanics are permitted to think—”
“Or asses to practice at the bar,” retorted Mr. Merritt, indignantly, turning to depart.
The fiery furnace of the attorney’s rage threatened to consume him at this new and flagrant act of daring; and he was driven to disclose a secret, which he had intended to hold in suspension, like the sword of Democles, over his victim. He called to Mr. Merritt.
“Come back, Mr. Merritt; let me give you a little further light upon this case.” Esquire Rock’s manner had undergone a sudden change, which puzzled the mechanic exceedingly, as he obeyed the summons. All traces of wrath had vanished, and he received the mechanic with something of the air of complacency, with which an epicure might be supposed to contemplate the preparations for an extensive feast.
