232 OCCASIONAL HAPPY THOUGHTS. 



We step in. Nobody takes any notice of us, so I propose 

 taking notice of somebody, just to account for our being 

 there. 



I address the man, who looks like a clerk, affably, wonder- 

 ing what office he holds, and whether he is a Clerk or not. 

 My Aunt impresses me strongly with the necessity of being 

 civil — very civil — to these officials, as she whispers (she does 

 nothing but whisper mysteriously in my ear), this may be of 

 use to us, and perhaps (this is her leading idea), this young 

 man may be the Magistrate's nephew. (It turns out after- 

 wards that she once knew a Judge who made his nephew 

 the Clerk of Arraigns, and she considers it the usual thing.) 

 I say " good-morning " to the Clerk. I feel instinctively 

 that my Aunt behind me is smiling on him, and I despise 

 myself, and her, for fawning upon creatures in power : but 

 I do it. 



The Clerk nods. 



" I suppose we may step in here till the Magistrate 

 comes ? " I inquire, still pleasantly. Fawning, both of us. 



"Yes," answers the Clerk, carelessly. 



" Thank you. Sir," says my Aunt gratefully. 



I am not sorry for this, as if the Cabman is outside in the 

 passage, he may be attended by his sympathising friends, 

 and the meeting might be unpleasant. We remain in the 

 office, and we converse about nothing particular in whispers, 

 until I begin to foresee a difficulty in regaining our natural 

 tones. 



A stout man buttoned up to the chin (an inspector 

 probably), walks in. 



