Curious thing, now that I am installed as a pupil in FIBBINS'S Chambers in
Waste Paper Buildings, Temple, how few _new_ briefs I am given to read.
Usual routine is for DICK FIBBINS to hand me a brief on which the dust of
ages has collected, and to leave me to "get up the law about it"; but when
he (FIBBINS) comes back from his day's business in Court, about 4·30 P.M.,
he doesn't seem to care a bit to know what the law is. Seems tired, and
prefers to gossip and smoke; so I do the same, or "follow on the same
side," as he expresses it.

"It strikes me forcibly," I begin, "that the Plaintiff, SMITHERS, in that
running-down case you asked me to read to-day, hasn't got the ghost of a
chance. Why, in _Blatherson_ v. _Snipe_, the Court ruled--"

"Tried the lawn-tennis in the gardens yet?" FIBBINS interrupts, in the
rudest possible manner.

"No," I reply, "I was speaking of the Court, not lawn-tennis courts." (One
for FIBBINS, I think.) "All the Judges held in _Blatherson_ v. _Snipe_,
that--"

"Oh, did they?" he interrupts again: "doosid interesting. Was I for
plaintiff or defendant?"

"Plaintiff, SMITHERS. A running-down case."

"Wish it had been a running-up case--a case of running-up the fees," he
laughs. Then, resuming a more professional style, "You see, I've had such
multitudes of cases since then, that I've forgotten the precise details.
But you write out your own Opinion--not to-day; tomorrow will do. Then I'll