Why put himself to so much trouble, when he had old Ocock's recommendation to his lawyer-son in his coat pocket?
What, in the name of Leary-cum-Fitz, was the sense of making an enemy for life of the old man, his next-door neighbour, and a good customer to boot?
These counsels prevailed, and they turned their steps towards Chancery Lane, where was to be found every variety of legal practitioner from barrister to scrivener.

Having matched the house-number and descried the words: "Mr.Henry Ocock, Conveyancer and Attorney, Commissioner of Affidavits," painted black on two dusty windows, they climbed a wooden stair festooned with cobwebs, to a landing where an injunction to: "Push and Enter!" was, rudely inked on a sheet of paper and affixed to a door.
Obeying, they passed into a dingy little room, the entire furnishing of which consisted of a couple of deal tables, with a chair to each.

These were occupied by a young man and a boy, neither of whom rose at their entrance.

The lad was cutting notches in a stick and whistling tunefully; the clerk, a young fellow in the early twenties, who had a mop of flaming red hair and small-slit white-lashed eyes, looked at the strangers, but without lifting his head: his eyes performed the necessary motion.
Mahony desired to know if he had the pleasure of addressing Mr.Henry Ocock.

In reply the red-head gave a noiseless laugh, which he immediately quenched by clapping his hand over his mouth, and shutting one eye at his junior said: "No--nor yet the Shar o' Persia, nor Alphybetical Foster!--What can I do for you, governor ?" "You can have the goodness to inform Mr.Ocock that I wish to see him!" flashed back Mahony.
"Singin' til-ril-i-tum-tum-dee-ay!--Now then, Mike, me child, toddle!" With patent reluctance the boy ceased his whittling, and dawdled across the room to an inner door through which he vanished, having first let his knuckles bump, as if by chance, against the wood of the panel.