It is a cruel thing to shut up a young man between the four walls of an office, when that young man is romantic, heart-hungry, and twenty-three. It is especially cruel, when the walls are lined with dull tomes of legal lore and adorned with pictures of even duller-looking legal lights, as were the walls of Josiah Smatt’s office. Blackstone is poor fare for heart hunger and adventure lust, and hot blood needs other than a law code for a safety-valve. The window was Martin Blake’s safety-valve. For a year, he had been Josiah Smatt’s retainer, keeper of the outer office, slave of writs and torts and all the musty forms of law. It was a retainership that chafed, but he was prostrate before the …
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