"
And there is another on the eve of happiness--a rival is to be set
aside--that other is Hubert Tracy, and the rival is Phillip
Lawson.
Within a few hours from the time that Mr. Sharpley had made up his
mind, there lay on the office desk a letter addressed:
W. CLARKE CONNOR, ESQ.,
Barrister,
Portage, La Prarie.
Barrister at Portage La Prarie. Yes, my friend; barristers at the
northermost corner of the earth.
Mr. Connor was a man of fifty years or upwards. He had formerly
practised in Winnipeg and in his office Nicholas Sharpley first
entered as a law student. Doubtless the quick-sighted lawyer saw in
the former much in common with his own sordid nature and liked
communion with kindred spirits, for Nicholas Sharpley rose high in
Mr. Connor's esteem, and when the latter started out for "greener
fields and pastures new," he was in full confidence of the affairs
of the younger lawyer.
Mr. Connor was a man whom few liked but very many dreaded. He had
the power of ingratiating himself in favor when he was least sought,
and his bland oily manner could scarcely be disconcerted.
"That old nuisance of a Connor is always poking his nose where he is
not wanted," was often heard from any outspoken Miss who had the
audacity to express her honest thoughts.
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