Royal Thatcher glanced around the room, took in all its dreary
suggestions in a half-weary, half-indifferent sort of way, and dropped
into the lawyer's own revolving chair as that gentleman entered from the
adjacent room.
"Well, you got back soon, I see," said Harlowe briskly.
"Yes," said his client, without looking up, and with this notable
distinction between himself and all other previous clients, that he
seemed absolutely less interested than the lawyer. "Yes, I'm here; and,
upon my soul, I don't exactly know why."
"You told me of certain papers you had discovered," said the lawyer
suggestively.
"Oh, yes," returned Thatcher with a slight yawn. "I've got here
some papers somewhere;"--he began to feel in his coat pocket
languidly;--"but, by the way, this is a rather dreary and God-forsaken
sort of place! Let's go up to Welker's, and you can look at them over a
bottle of champagne."
"After I've looked at them, I've something to show you, myself," said
Harlowe; "and as for the champagne, we'll have that in the other room,
by and by.
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