I think, if you condescend to examine him, you will say that regular habits, and a diet of nothing but law-reading--for other forms of literature I strictly interdict--have made him all that you instance." Mr.Thompson's hand was on the bell.

Sir Austin arrested him.
"Permit me to see the lad at his occupation," said he.
Our old friend Ripton sat in a room apart with the confidential clerk, Mr.Beazley, a veteran of law, now little better than a document, looking already signed and sealed, and shortly to be delivered, who enjoined nothing from his pupil and companion save absolute silence, and sounded his praises to his father at the close of days when it had been rigidly observed--not caring, or considering, the finished dry old document that he was, under what kind of spell a turbulent commonplace youth could be charmed into stillness for six hours of the day.

Ripton was supposed to be devoted to the study of Blackstone.

A tome of the classic legal commentator lay extended outside his desk, under the partially lifted lid of which nestled the assiduous student's head--law being thus brought into direct contact with his brain-pan.

The office-door opened, and he heard not; his name was called, and he remained equally moveless.