CHAPTER XVIII
That abysm of legal dubieties, the office of Mr. Keelevin, the writer, consisted of two obscure apartments on the ground floor of M’Gregor’s Land, in M’Whinnie’s Close, in the Gallowgate. The outer room was appropriated to the clerks, and the inner for the darker mysteries of consultation. To this place Claud repaired on the day following the interesting communication, of which we have recorded the first impressions in the foregoing chapter. He had ordered breakfast to be ready an hour earlier than usual; and as soon as he had finished it, he went to his scrutoire, and taking out his title-deeds, put them in his pocket, and without saying any thing to his wife of what he intended to do, lifted his hat and stick from their accustomed place of repose, in the corner of the dining-room, and proceeded, as we have said, to consult Mr. Keelevin.
It is not the universal opinion of mankind, that the profession of the law is favourable to the preservation of simplicity of character or of benevolence of disposition; but this, no doubt, arises from the malice of disappointed clients, who, to shield themselves from the consequences of their own unfair courses, pretend that the wrongs and injustice of which they are either found guilty, or are frustrated in the attempt to effect, are owing to the faults and roguery of their own or their adversaries’ lawyers. But why need we advocate any revision of the sentence pronounced upon the limbs of the law? for, grasping, as they do, the whole concerns and interests of the rest of the community, we think they are sufficiently armed with claws and talons to defend themselves. All, in fact, that we meant by this apologetic insinuation, was to prepare the reader for the introduction of Mr. Keelevin, on whom the corrosive sublimate of a long and thorough professional insight of all kinds of equivocation and chicanery had in no degree deteriorated from the purity of his own unsuspicious and benevolent nature. Indeed, at the very time that Claud called, he was rebuking his young men on account of the cruelty of a contrivance they had made to catch a thief that was in the nocturnal practice of opening the window of their office, to take away what small change they were so negligent as to leave on or in their desks; and they were not only defending themselves, but remonstrating with him for having rendered their contrivance abortive. For, after they had ingeniously constructed a trap within the window, namely, a footless table, over which the thief must necessarily pass to reach their desks, he had secretly placed a pillow under it, in order that, when it fell down, the robber might not hurt himself in the fall.
‘Gude morning, gude morning, Mr. Keelevin; how’re ye the day?’ said Claud, as he entered.
‘Gaily, gaily, Grippy; how’re ye yoursel, and how’s a’ at hame? Come awa ben to my room,’ was the writer’s answer, turning round and opening the door; for experience had taught him that visits from acquaintances at that hour were not out of mere civility.
Claud stepped in, and seated himself in an old armed chair which stood on the inner side of the table where Mr. Keelevin himself usually wrote; and the lawyer followed him, after saying to the clerks, ‘I redde ye, lads, tak tent to what I hae been telling you, and no encourage yourselves to the practice of evil that good may come o’t. To devise snares and stratagems is most abominable – all that ye should or ought to do, is to take such precautions that the thief may not enter; but to wile him into the trap, by leaving the window unfastened, was nothing less than to be the cause of his sin. So I admonish you no to do the like o’t again.’
In saying this he came in, and, shutting the door, took his own seat at the opposite side of the table, addressing himself to Claud, ‘And so ye hae gotten your auld son married? I hope it’s to your satisfaction.’
‘An he has brewed good yill, Mr. Keelevin, he’ll drink the better,’ was the reply; ‘but I hae come to consult you anent a bit alteration that I would fain make in my testament.’
‘That’s no a matter of great difficulty, Laird; for, sin’ we found out that the deed of entail that was made after your old son was born can never stand, a’ ye have is free to be destined as ye will, both heritable and moveable.’
‘And a lucky discovery that was; – many a troubled thought I hae had in my own breast about it; and now I’m come to confer wi’ you, Mr. Keelevin, for I would na trust the hair o’ a dog to the judgement o’ that tavert bodie, Gibby Omit, that gart me pay nine pounds seven shillings and saxpence too for the parchment; for it ne’er could be called an instrument, as it had na the pith o’ a windlestrae to bind the property; and over and aboon that, the bodie has lang had his back to the wa’, wi’ the ’poplexy; so that I maun put my trust in this affair into your hands, in the hope and confidence that ye’re able to mak something mair sicker.’
‘We’ll do our endeavour, Mr. Walkinshaw; hae ye made ony sort o’ scantling o’ what you would wish done?’
‘No, but I hae brought the teetles o’ the property in my pouch, and ye’ll just conform to them. As for the bit saving of lying money, we’ll no fash wi’ it for the present; I’m only looking to get a solid and right entail o’ the heritable.’
‘Nothing can be easier. Come as ye’re o’ an ancient family, no doubt your intent is to settle the Grippy on the male line; and, failing your sons and their heirs, then on the heirs of the body of your daughter.’
‘Just sae, just sae. I’ll make no change on my original disposition; only, as I would fain hae what cam by the gudewife made part and portion o’ the family heritage, and as her father’s settlement on Watty canna be broken without a great risk, I would like to begin the entail o’ the Grippy wi’ him.’
‘I see nothing to prevent that; ye could gie Charlie, the auld son, his liferent in’t, and as Watty, no to speak disrespectful of his capacity, may ne’er marry, it might be so managed.’
‘Oh, but that’s no what I mean, and what for may na Watty marry? Is na he o’ capacity to execute a deed, and surely that should qualify him to take a wife?’
‘But heavens preserve me, Mr. Walkinshaw, are ye sensible of the ill ye would do to that fine lad, his auld brother, that’s now a married man, and in the way to get heirs? Sic a settlement as ye speak o’ would be cutting him off a’ thegither: it would be most iniquitous!’
‘An it should be sae, the property is my own conquesting, Mr. Keelevin, and surely I may mak a kirk and a mill o’t an I like.’
‘Nobody, it’s true, Mr. Walkinshaw, has ony right to meddle wi’ how ye dispone of your own, but I was thinking ye maybe did na reflect that sic an entail as ye speak o’ would be rank injustice to poor Charlie, that I hae ay thought a most excellent lad.’
‘Excellent here, or excellent there, it was na my fault that he drew up wi’ a tocherless tawpy, when he might hae had Miss Betty Bodle.’
‘I am very sorry to hear he has displeased you; but the Fatherlans family, into whilk he has married, has ay been in great repute and estimation.’
‘Aye, afore the Ayr Bank; but the silly bodie the father was clean broken by that venture.’
‘That should be the greater reason, Mr. Walkinshaw, wi’ you to let your estate go in the natural way to Charlie.’
‘A’ that may be very true, Mr. Keelevin; I did na come here, however, to confer with you anent the like of that, but only of the law. I want you to draw the settlement, as I was saying; first, ye’ll entail it on Walter and his heirs-male, syne on Geordie and his heirs-male, and failing them, ye may gang back, to please yoursel, to the heirs-male o’ Charlie, and failing them, to Meg’s heirs-general.’
‘Mr. Walkinshaw,’ said the honest writer, after a pause of about a minute, ‘there’s no Christianity in this.’
‘But there may be law, I hope.’
‘I think, Mr. Walkinshaw, my good and worthy friend, that you should reflect well on this matter, for it is