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Marguerite Verne by Rebecca Agatha Armour
page 51 of 471 (10%)
thought it embraces--it held the heart of Phillip Lawson at will,
and despite his power of self-control he was often the victim of its
vagaries.

But the lawyer had not long time to indulge in such thoughts. A
knock aroused him.

"Come-in."

A stalwart looking youth of muscular build (with suit of grey
homespun not cut exactly in the proportions of that of a dude) stood
upon the threshold with a look upon his florid face that betrayed
some embarrassment.

"You be Mr. Lawson the lawyer, sir."

"Yes, sir," said the young practitioner, a smile lighting up his
face and making him an interlocutor not to be dreaded by the most
unsophisticated client.

"'Spose I needn't ask, be you pretty well posted in law?" queried
the individual on taking his seat, at the same time pulling out an
enormous expanse of red and yellow cotton, called by way of courtesy
a handkerchief, which he vigorously switched across his face as
though a swarm of mosquitoes were on the aggressive, and kept the
field unflinchingly.

"What is the cause of complaint, sir?" ventured the interested
lawyer, scarcely able to repress a smile.

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