A Lincoln's Inn mumper was a proverb

Justin spent the evening at a law journal source cite--the fates willing, his last--that left him mired in the heavy hebetude of a triumphantly tedious and unforgivably long article about the history of American administrative law (the author argues there was such a history) between Jackson and Lincoln. Through the largesse of an executive editor, he was awarded for his very real pains with a mammoth calzone filled to the core with abundant cheese.

Meanwhile Lia and the girls dutifully conducted family home evening in his absence. The girls learned the story of the young heroines, Mary Elizabeth and Caroline Rollins, who saved the printers' manuscripts of the Book of Commandments from destruction at the hands of a wicked mob. They then played "Name that Tune"--always fun but never quite this funny.

At one point Julia decided that Justin's dilatoriness had gone far enough. "Daddy," she thundered, "is LATE!" Lia smiled understandingly and nodded agreement. "Maybe," Julia went on, "maybe I hope that the bells at his school will ring and ring and ring and ring and say, 'Daddy, you're late! You're late, Daddy, go home!'"

At about 8:30 this evening, a young father stood on a lonely curb in front of the castellated citadel that is the Yale Law School. Habitually engrossed in an oversized book in an effort to shake from soul the source-cite stupor that had so held him bound, he was stirred the quick by the nearby peals and clamor of the bells of Harkness Tower, ringing out wildly, rebuking him as one tardy and truant, beckoning him onward, homeward. At length the tintinnabulation subsided, and the law school's night shuttle roared around the corner and halted by the curb. The young man alighted, calling out warmly to the driver his familiar destination. "517 Prospect, please Ma'am!"