His fingers, too, bore the tell-tale yellow stains.
"Mr. Ledsam," he said, "I think, with your permission, I should
like to leave at the end of my next three months."
Francis glanced across at him.
"Sorry to hear that, Fawsitt. Are you going to work for any one
else?"
"I haven't made arrangements yet, sir," the young man replied.
"I thought of offering myself to Mr. Barnes."
"Why do you want to leave me?" Francis asked.
"There isn't enough for me to do, sir."
Francis lit his pipe.
"It's probably just a lull, Fawsitt," he remarked.
"I don't think so, sir."
"The devil! You've been gossiping with some of these solicitors'
clerks, Fawsitt."
"I shouldn't call it gossiping, sir. I am always interested to
hear anything that may concern our--my future. I have reason to
believe, sir, that we are being passed over for briefs."
"The reason being?"
"One can't pick and choose, sir. One shouldn't, anyway."
Francis smiled.
"You evidently don't approve of any measure of personal choice as
to the work which one takes up."
"Certainly I do not, sir, in our profession. The only brief I
would refuse would be a losing or an ill-paid one. I don't
conceive it to be our business to prejudge a case."
"I see," Francis murmured. "Go on, Fawsitt."
"There's a rumour about," the young man continued, "that you are
only going to plead where the chances are that your client is
innocent.
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