It never occurs to him how much simpler it would be to write a letter.
The item for "traveling expenses" in his bill of costs must be
something enormous.

There are two moments in the course of his client's career that the
stage lawyer particularly enjoys. The first is when the client comes
unexpectedly into a fortune; the second when he unexpectedly loses it.

In the former case, upon learning the good news the stage lawyer at
once leaves his business and hurries off to the other end of the
kingdom to bear the glad tidings. He arrives at the humble domicile
of the beneficiary in question, sends up his card, and is ushered into
the front parlor. He enters mysteriously and sits left--client sits
right. An ordinary, common lawyer would come to the point at once,
state the matter in a plain, business-like way, and trust that he
might have the pleasure of representing, etc., etc.; but such simple
methods are not those of the stage lawyer. He looks at the client and
says:

"You had a father."

The client starts. How on earth did this calm, thin, keen-eyed old
man in black know that he had a father? He shuffles and stammers, but
the quiet, impenetrable lawyer fixes his cold, glassy eye on him, and
he is helpless. Subterfuge, he feels, is useless, and amazed,
bewildered at the knowledge of his most private affairs possessed by
his strange visitant, he admits the fact: he had a father.

The lawyer smiles with a quiet smile of triumph and scratches his