“Willing!” exclaimed Thorndyke, “Barkis himself was not more willing than I. You will be invaluable to me.  Let us settle the terms of our comradeship forthwith, and to-morrow we will take measures to enter you as a student of the Inner Temple.  Shall we have our talk in the open air and the spring sunshine?”

I agreed readily to this proposal, for it was a bright, sunny day and warm for the time of year—­the beginning of April.  We descended to the Walk and thence slowly made our way to the quiet court behind the church, where poor old Oliver Goldsmith lies, as he would surely have wished to lie, in the midst of all that had been dear to him in his chequered life.  I need not record the matter of our conversation.  To Thorndyke’s proposals I had no objections to offer but my own unworthiness and his excessive liberality.  A few minutes saw our covenants fully agreed upon, and when Thorndyke had noted the points on a slip of paper, signed and dated it and handed it to me, the business was at an end.

“There,” my colleague said with a smile as he put away his pocket-book, “if people would only settle their affairs in that way, a good part of the occupation of lawyers would be gone.  Brevity is the soul of wit; and the fear of simplicity is the beginning of litigation.”

“And now,” I said, “I propose that we go and feed.  I will invite you to lunch to celebrate our contract.”

“My learned junior is premature,” he replied.  “I had already arranged a little festivity—­or rather had modified one that was already arranged.  You remember Mr. Marchmont, the solicitor?”

“Yes.”

“He called this morning to ask me to lunch with him and a new client at the ‘Cheshire Cheese.’  I accepted and notified him that I should bring you.”

“Why the ’Cheshire Cheese’?” I asked.

“Why not?  Marchmont’s reasons for the selection were, first, that his client has never seen an old-fashioned London tavern, and second, that this is Wednesday and he, Marchmont, has a gluttonous affection for a really fine beef-steak pudding.  You don’t object, I hope?”

“Oh, not at all.  In fact, now that you mention it, my own sensations incline me to sympathize with Marchmont.  I breakfasted rather early.”

“Then come,” said Thorndyke.  “The assignation is for one o’clock, and, if we walk slowly, we shall just hit it off.”

We sauntered up Inner Temple Lane, and, crossing Fleet Street, headed sedately for the tavern.  As we entered the quaint old-world dining-room, Thorndyke looked round and a gentleman, who was seated with a companion at a table in one of the little boxes or compartments, rose and saluted us.

“Let me introduce you to my friend Mr. Stephen Blackmore,” he said as we approached.  Then, turning to his companion, he introduced us by our respective names.

“I engaged this box,” he continued, “so that we might be private if we wished to have a little preliminary chat; not that beef-steak pudding is a great help to conversation.  But when people have a certain business in view, their talk is sure to drift towards it, sooner or later.”