Rumpole's

Ben and Rose celebrated with a meal out.

Here’s to the lawsuit, Ben said.

They were drinking good beer at a lawyers’ pub. It had that Ye Olde English look, lots of dark wood inside, pews for booths, good beer and steak, and no windows, All the lawyers in town hung out here. Why ? Rose could never figure it out. Ben sometimes took her here for lunch. Everyone greeted him: the judges, the lawyers. People kept coming over to the table.

This is my wife, Rose. She’s going into law.

No, I’m not, Rose said.

She’s actually an architect. Need a new house? Ben didn’t tell anyone about the lawsuit.

When their beer arrived, they raised their glasses.

Here’s to ten years of good drinking. And here’s to winning the lawsuit.

I haven’t won yet.

You will.

I haven’t had beer since the party. I'm still recovering from that. I haven’t had good beer in over a year.

Samuel Adams is strong. Take it slow.

Rose took a few sips and pushed her glass across the table. I have to work this afternoon.

The well-done hamburgers were juicy. The salads were mostly iceberg lettuce. Rose couldn’t understand the restaurant's mystique.

What do you see in this place?

It’s just a hangout. It’s centrally located.

But nobody comes here except lawyers. Everybody else has too good taste.

Where do you go?

The coffeehouse. Or the Italian place. Or sometimes we have takeout Chinese.

Takeout. I never have takeout. I like to see people.

Don’t I know it?

Suddenly Vic was at their table. Ben, Rose.

Do you eat here too? Rose asked. She was somehow dismayed that her lawyer would lunch at Rumple’s.

I like Rumpole’s, he admitted. I only drink the beer, though. I eat a sandwich at my desk.

I wish I had a sandwich, said Rose.