He was sitting in the
inner room, the door between that and the outer room being open, but
the street door closed.
After a little he heard some one enter and walk across the floor. He
thought it must be Ralph, and he looked up to welcome him. But it was
dark in the outer office, and he could not see who came, until his
visitor was fairly standing in the door-way of his room.
It was not Ralph. It was a young man, a stranger. He wore a pair of
light corduroy pantaloons, a checked vest, a double-breasted sack
coat, and a flowing red cravat.
He bowed low and said:--
"Have I the honor of addressing Mr. Sharpman, attorney at law?"
"That is my name," said the lawyer, regarding his visitor with some
curiosity, "will you walk in?"
"With pleasure, sir."
The young man entered the room, removed his high silk hat from his
head, and laid it on the table, top down. Then he drew a card case
from an inner pocket, and produced and handed to the lawyer a soiled
card on which was printed in elaborate letters the following name and
address:--
L. JOSEPH CHEEKERTON,
PHILADELPHIA.
"_Rhyming Joe_."
While Sharpman was examining the card, his visitor was forming in his
mind a plan of procedure. He had come there with a carefully concocted
lie on his tongue to swindle the sharpest lawyer in Scranton out of
enough money to fill an empty purse.
"Will you be seated, Mr. Cheekerton?" said the lawyer, looking up from
the card.
"Thank you, sir!"
The young man drew the chair indicated by Sharpman closer to the
table, and settled himself comfortably into it.
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