attach him.  We must anticipate them by attaching him to us.  I’ll see what can be done—­legitimately, you understand.  Perhaps you may have to engage additional counsel—­some such firm as, say, Humperdink & Grafter.  Often, in cases nowadays, there is detail work of an important character that lawyers of our standing couldn’t think of undertaking.  But, of course, we work in harmony with such other counsel as our client sees fit to engage.”

“Certainly; I understand,” said Arthur, with a knowing, “man-of-the-world” nod.  His cause being good and its triumph necessary, he must not be squeamish about any alliances it might be necessary to make as a means to that triumph, where the world was so wicked.  “Then, you undertake the case.”

“We will look into it,” Dawson corrected.  “You appreciate that the litigation will be somewhat expensive?”

Arthur reddened.  No, he hadn’t thought of that!  Whenever he had wanted anything, he had ordered it, and had let the bill go to his father; whenever he had wanted money, he had sent to his father for it, and had got it.  Dawson’s question made the reality of his position—­moneyless, resourceless, friendless—­burst over him like a waterspout.  Dawson saw and understood; but it was not his cue to lessen that sense of helplessness.

At last Arthur sufficiently shook off his stupor to say:  “Unless I win the contest, I shan’t have any resources beyond the five thousand I get under the will, and a thousand or so I have in bank at Saint X—­and what little I could realize from my personal odds and ends.  Isn’t there some way the thing could be arranged?”

“There is the method of getting a lawyer to take a case on contingent fee,” said Dawson.  “That is, the lawyer gets a certain per cent of what he wins, and nothing if he loses.  But we don’t make such arrangements.  They are regarded as almost unprofessional; I couldn’t honestly recommend any lawyer who would.  But, let me see—­um—­urn—­” Dawson was reflecting again, with an ostentation which might have roused the suspicions of a less guileless person than Arthur Ranger at twenty-five.  “You could, perhaps, give us a retainer of say, a thousand in cash?”

“Yes,” said Arthur, relieved.  He thought he saw light ahead.

“Then we could take your note for say, five thousand—­due in eighteen months.  You could renew it, if your victory was by any chance delayed beyond that time.”

“Your victory” was not very adroit, but it was adroit enough to bedazzle Arthur.  “Certainly,” said he gratefully.

Dawson shut his long, wild-looking teeth and gently drew back his dry, beard-discolored lips, while his keen eyes glinted behind his spectacles.  The fly had a leg in the web!