nto stillness for six hours of the day. Ripton
was supposed to be devoted to the study of Blackstone. A tome of the
classic legal commentator lay extended outside his desk, under the
partially lifted lid of which nestled the assiduous student's head--law
being thus brought into direct contact with his brain-pan. The
office-door opened, and he heard not; his name was called, and he
remained equally moveless. His method of taking in Blackstone seemed
absorbing as it was novel.

"Comparing notes, I daresay," whispered Mr. Thompson to Sir Austin. "I
call that study!"

The confidential clerk rose, and bowed obsequious senility.

"Is it like this every day, Beazley?" Mr. Thompson asked with parental
pride.

"Ahem!" the old clerk replied, "he is like this every day, sir. I could
not ask more of a mouse."

Sir Austin stepped forward to the desk. His proximity roused one of
Ripton's senses, which blew a pall to the others. Down went the lid of
the desk. Dismay, and the ardours of study, flashed together in Ripton's
face. He slouched from his perch with the air of one who means rather
to defend his position than welcome a superior, the right hand in his
waistcoat pocket fumbling a key, the left catching at his vacant stool.

Sir Austin put two fingers on the youth's shoulder, and said, leaning
his head a little on one side, in a way habitual to him, "I am glad to
find my son's old comrade thus profitably occupied. I know what study is
myself. But beware of prosecuting it too excitedly! Come! you must not
be offended at our interruption; you will soon take up the thread
again. Besides, you know, you must get accustomed to the visits of your
client."

So condescending and kindly did this speech sound to Mr. Thompson, that,
seeing Ripton still preserve his appearance of disorder and sneaking
defiance, he thought fit to nod and frown at the youth, and desired him
to inform the baronet what particular part of Blackstone he was absorbed
in mastering at that moment.

Ripton hesitated an instant, and blundered out, with dubious
articulation, "The Law of Gravelkind."

"What Law?" said Sir Austin, perplexed.

"Gravelkind," again rumbled Ripton's voice.

Sir Austin turned to Mr. Thompson for an explanation. The old lawyer was
shaking his law-box.

"Singular!" he exclaimed. "He will make that mistake! What law, sir?"

Ripton read his error in the sternly painful expression of his father's
face, and corrected himself. "Gavelk