Few young men were
more contented, few more willing and laborious than Francis
Scrymgeour. Sometimes at night, when he had read the daily paper,
he would play upon the flute to amuse his father, for whose
qualities he entertained a great respect.
One day he received a note from a well-known firm of Writers to the
Signet, requesting the favour of an immediate interview with him.
The letter was marked "Private and Confidential," and had been
addressed to him at the bank, instead of at home - two unusual
circumstances which made him obey the summons with the more
alacrity. The senior member of the firm, a man of much austerity
of manner, made him gravely welcome, requested him to take a seat,
and proceeded to explain the matter in hand in the picked
expressions of a veteran man of business. A person, who must
remain nameless, but of whom the lawyer had every reason to think
well - a man, in short, of some station in the country - desired to
make Francis an annual allowance of five hundred pounds. The
capital was to be placed under the control of the lawyer's firm and
two trustees who must also remain anonymous. There were conditions
annexed to this liberality, but he was of opinion that his new
client would find nothing either excessive or dishonourable in the
terms; and he repeated these two words with emphasis, as though he
desired to commit himself to nothing more.
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