Frequently he had coached childhood so successfully that, at
the psychological moment (and at a given signal) the plaintive pipe of
"Papa, won't you tum home adain to me and muvver?" had won the day
and upheld the pillars of a tottering home.
Unprejudiced persons admitted that Lawyer Gooch received as big fees
from these reyoked clients as would have been paid him had the cases
been contested in court. Prejudiced ones intimated that his fees were
doubled, because the penitent couples always came back later for the
divorce, anyhow.
There came a season in June when the legal ship of Lawyer Gooch (to
borrow his own figure) was nearly becalmed. The divorce mill grinds
slowly in June. It is the month of Cupid and Hymen.
Lawyer Gooch, then, sat idle in the middle room of his clientless
suite. A small anteroom connected--or rather separated--this
apartment from the hallway. Here was stationed Archibald, who wrested
from visitors their cards or oral nomenclature which he bore to his
master while they waited.
Suddenly, on this day, there came a great knocking at the outermost
door.
Archibald, opening it, was thrust aside as superfluous by the visitor,
who without due reverence at once penetrated to the office of Lawyer
Gooch and threw himself with good-natured insolence into a comfortable
chair facing that gentlemen.
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