The Human Element

Although men flatter themselves with their great actions,
they are not so often the result of great design as of chance. 
—­La ROCHEFOUCAULD.

“He says he killed him, and that’s all there is about it!” said Tutt to Mr. Tutt.  “What are you going to do with a fellow like that?” The junior partner of the celebrated firm of Tutt & Tutt, attorneys and counselors at law, thrust his hands deep into the pockets of his yellow checked breeches and, balancing himself upon the heels of his patent-leather boots, gazed in a distressed, respectfully inquiring manner at his distinguished associate.

“Yes,” he repeated plaintively.  “He don’t make any bones about it at all.  ‘Sure, I killed him!’ says he.  ‘And I’d kill him again, the ——!’ I prefer not to quote his exact language.  I’ve just come from the Tombs and had quite a talk with Serafino in the counsel room, with a gum-chewing keeper sitting in the corner watching me for fear I’d slip his prisoner a saw file or a shotgun or a barrel of poison.  I’m all in!  These murder cases drive me to drink, Mr. Tutt.  I don’t mind grand larceny, forgery, assault or even manslaughter—­but murder gets my goat!  And when you have a crazy Italian for a client who says he’s glad he did it and would like to do it again—­please excuse me!  It isn’t law; it’s suicide!”

He drew out a silk handkerchief ornamented with the colors of the Allies, and wiped his forehead despairingly.

“Oh,” remarked Mr. Tutt with entire good nature.  “He’s glad he did it and he’s quite willing to be hanged!”

“That’s it in a nutshell!” replied Tutt.

The senior partner of Tutt & Tutt ran his bony fingers through the lank gray locks over his left eye and tilted ceilingward the stogy between his thin lips.  Then he leaned back in his antique swivel chair, locked his hands behind his head, elevated his long legs luxuriously, and crossed his feet upon the fourth volume of the American and English Encyclopedia of Law, which lay open upon the desk at Champerty and Maintenance.  Even in this inelegant and relaxed posture he somehow managed to maintain the air of picturesque dignity which always made his tall, ungainly figure noticeable in any courtroom.  Indubitably Mr. Ephraim Tutt suggested a past generation, the suggestion being accentuated by a slight pedantry of diction a trifle out of character with the rushing age in which he saw fit to practise his time-honored profession.  “Cheer up, Tutt,” said he, pushing a box of stogies toward his partner with the toe of his congress boot.  “Have a weed?”

Since in the office of Tutt & Tutt such an invitation like those of royalty, was equivalent to a command, Tutt acquiesced.

“Thank you, Mr. Tutt,” said Tutt, looking about vaguely for a match.

“That conscienceless brat of a Willie steals ’em all,” growled Mr. Tutt.  “Ring the bell.”