Mr. James Short was a short, stout young man, with black eyes, a hooked
nose, and a prematurely bald head. Indeed, this baldness of the head was
the only distinguishing mark between James and John, and, therefore, a
thing to be thankful for, though, of course, useless to the perplexed
acquaintance who met them in the street when their hats were on. At the
moment of Eustace's entry Mr. Short had been engaged in studying that
intensely legal print, the _Sporting Times_, which, however, from some
unexplained bashfulness, he had hastily thrown under the table, filling
its space with a law book snatched at hazard from the shelf.
"All right, old fellow," said Eustace, whose quick eyes had caught the
quick flutter of the vanishing paper; "don't be alarmed, it's only me."
"Ah!" said Mr. James Short, when he had shaken hands with him, "you see I
thought that it might have been a client--a client is always possible,
however improbable, and one has to be ready to meet the possibility."
"Quite so, old fellow," said Eustace; "but do you know, as it happens, I
am a client--and a big one, too; it is a matter of two millions of
money--my uncle's fortune. There was another will, and I want to take
your advice.
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