As his wits steadied themselves he began to see that he must consult at once with some lawyer--Field, of course--perhaps something could be done; a clever lawyer might make out a case for him after all.

But all at once he became convinced that Field would not undertake his defence; he knew he had no case; so what could Field do for him?
He would have to tell him the truth, and he saw with absolute clearness that the lawyer would refuse to try to defend him.

The thing could not honourably be done.

But, then, what _should_ he do?
He must have legal advice from some quarter.
He was still in this state of perplexity when Charlie Geary arrived, pounding on the door and opening it immediately afterward as was his custom.
"Hello!" said Vandover, surprised.

"Hello, Charlie! is that you ?" "Say," exclaimed Geary without returning his greeting, holding up his hand as if to interrupt him; "say, have you seen your lawyer yet--seen _any_ lawyer ?" "No," answered Vandover, shaking his head gravely; "no, I've only this minute read about it in the paper." He was glad that Geary had come; at once he felt a desire to throw this burden upon his chum's shoulders, to let him assume the management of the affair, just as in the old college days he had willingly, weakly, submitted to the dictatorship of the shrewder, stronger man who smoothed out his difficulties for him, and extricated him from all his scrapes.