on the opposite chimney-pots, and thinking about Dora; until Mr. Spenlow came in, crisp and curly.
"How are you, Copperfleld?" said he. "Fine morning!"
"Beautiful morning, sir," said I. "Could I say a word to you before you go into Court?"
"By all means," said he. "Come into my room."
I followed him into his room, and he began putting on his gown, and touching himself up before a little glass he had, hanging inside a closet door.
"I am sorry to say," said I, "that I have some rather disheartening intelligence from my aunt."
"No!" said he. "Dear me! Not paralysis, I hope?"
"It has no reference to her health, sir," I replied. "She has met with some large losses. In fact, she has very little left, indeed."
"You as-tound me, Copperfleld!" cried Mr. Spenlow.
I shook my head. "Indeed, sir," said I, "her affairs are so changed, that I wished to ask you whether it would be possible—at a sacrifice on our part of some portion of the premium, of course," I put in this, on the spur of the moment, warned by the blank expression of his face—"to cancel my articles?"
What it cost me to make this proposal, nobody knows. It was like asking, as a favor, to be sentenced to transportation from Dora.
"To cancel your articles, Copperfleld? Cancel?"
I explained with tolerable firmness, that I really did not know where my means of subsistence were to come from, unless I could earn them for myself. I had no fear for the future, I said—and I laid great emphasis on that, as if to imply that I should still be decidedly eligible for a son-in-law one of these days—but, for the present, I was thrown upon my own resources.
"I am extremely sorry to hear this, Copperfleld," said Mr. Spenlow. "Extremely sorry. It is not usual to cancel articles for any such reason. It is not a professional course of proceeding. It is not a convenient precedent at all. Far from it. At the same time"—
"You are very good, sir," I murmured, anticipating a concession.
"Not at all. Don't mention it," said Mr. Spenlow. "At the same time, I was going to say, if it had been my lot to have my hands unfettered—if I had not a partner—Mr. Jorkins"—
My hopes were dashed in a moment, but I made another effort.
"Do you think, sir," said I, "if I were to mention it to Mr. Jorkins—"
Mr. Spenlow shook his head discouragingly. "Heaven forbid, Copperfield," he replied, "that I should do any man an injustice; still less, Mr. Jorkins. But I know my partner, Copperfleld. Mr. Jorkins is not a man to respond to a proposition of this peculiar nature. Mr. Jorkins is very difficult to move from the beaten track. You know what he is!"
I am sure I knew nothing about him, except that he had originally been alone in the business, and now lived by himself in a house near Montagu Square, which was fearfully in want of painting; that he came very late of a day, and went away very early; that he never appeared to be consulted about anything; and that he had a dingy little black-hole of his own up-stairs, where no business was ever done, and where there was a yellow old cartridge-paper pad upon his desk, unsoiled by ink, and reported to be twenty years of age.
