into BLADAMS and employment as a copyist by Mr. DIBBLE, to whom his
experience of spending every cent he had in the world, and getting
nothing in the world for it but wrinkles, seemed felicitously legal and
almost supernaturally qualifying for law-writing. BLADAMS was about
forty years old, though appearing much older: with a slight cast in his
left eye, a pimply pink countenance, and a circular piece of unimproved
property on top of his head.

"Any news?" inquired Mr. DIBBLE, as this member of the once powerful
American race entered the office and still grasped the edge of the door.

"I saw Mr. DROOD across the street just now," was the answer.

"And what did he say, BLADAMS?"

"That, in turn he'd see _me_ across the street; and here he is,"
returned the clerk, advancing into the room.

"Ah, my dear Mr. EDWIN, glad to see you!" exclaimed Mr. DIBBLE, rising
to his feet and turning about to greet the new comer. "Sit down by the
fire; and don't mind the presence of Mr. BLADAMS, who was once a
gentleman."

"Thank you, old man, I don't know but I _will_ take a glow with you,"
said EDWIN, accepting a chair and throwing aside hat and overcoat.

"You're just in time to dine with me," continued the lawyer. "I'll send
across to a restaurant for three stews and as many mugs of ale. We must
ask Mr. BLADAMS to join us, you see; for he was once a decent man, and
might not like to be sent out for oysters unless asked to take some."