“What be all these ’ere books, sir?” he whispered to Prigg.
“These are law books,” answered the intelligent Prigg; “but these are only a few.”
“Must be a good dale o’ law,” said Bumpkin.
“A good deal too much,” observed Mr. Dynamite, with a smile; “if we were to burn nine-tenths of the law books we should have better law, eh, Mr. Prigg?”
Mr. Prigg never contradicted counsel; and if Mr. Dynamite had said it’s a great pity that our libraries have so few authorities, Prigg would have made the same answer, “I quite agree, quite so! quite so!”
“Mr. Cats-’is-name don’t seem to come,” observed Bumpkin, after an hour and a half had passed.
“Mr. _Catapult_, Mr. _Catapult_,” said Mr. Prigg; “no, he doesn’t seem to come.” And then he rang for the clerk, and the clerk came.
“Do you think Mr. Catapult will return to-night?” inquired Prigg.
“I don’t think he will,” said the clerk, looking at his watch; “I am afraid not.”
“Beant much good to stop then,” said Mr. Bumpkin.
“I fear not,” observed the clerk, “he has so many engagements. Shall we fix another consultation, Mr. Prigg?”
“Say half-past seven to-morrow, then. The case, I find, is not in the paper to-morrow.”
“Quite so, quite so,” returned Prigg, “half-past seven to-morrow.”
And thus the consultation was at an end and the parties went their several ways.
Mr. Bumpkin receives compliments from distinguished persons.
One evening as Mr. Bumpkin was sitting in his little parlour, ruminating, or as he termed it, “rummaging” in his mind over many things, and especially wondering when the trial would come on, Horatio, in breathless impatience, entered the room. His excited and cheerful appearance indicated that something of an unusually pleasant nature had occurred. A strong intimacy had long been established between this boy and Mr. Bumpkin, who regarded Horatio as a kind of legal prodigy; his very hopes seemed centered in and inspired by this lad. He seemed to be the guiding spirit and the flywheel of the whole proceedings. Was Snooks to be pulverized? it must be under Horatio’s heel!
This legal stripling brought almost as much comfort as Mr. Prigg himself; and it was quite a pleasure to hear the familiar terms in which he spoke of the bigwigs of the profession. He would say of McCannister, the Queen’s Counsel, “I like Mac’s style of putting a question, it’s so soft like—it goes down like a Pick-me-up.” Then he would allude to Mr. Heavytop, Q.C., as Jack; to Mr. Bigpot as old Kettledrum; to Mr. Swagger, Q.C., as Pat; to B. C. Windbag, Q.C., M.P., as B. C.—all which indicated to the mind of Mr. Bumpkin the particularly intimate terms upon which Horatio was with these celebrities. Nor did his intimacy cease there: instead of speaking of the highest legal official of the land in terms of respectful deference, as “my Lord High Chancellor,” or “my Lord Allworthy,”—he would say, in the most indifferent manner “Old Allworthy” this, and “Old Allworthy,” that; sometimes even, he ventured to call some of Her Majesty’s Judges by nick-names; an example which, I trust, will not be followed by the Horatios of the future. But I believe the pale boy, like his great namesake, was fearless. It was a comfort to hear him denounce the law’s delay, and the terrible “cumbersomeness” of legal proceedings: not that he did it in soothing language or in happy phraseology: it was rather in a manner that led Mr. Bumpkin to believe the young champion was standing up for his particular rights; as if he had said to the authorities, whoever they might be, “Look here! I’ll have no more of this: it’s a shame and disgrace to this country that a simple dispute between a couple of neighbours can’t be tried without months of quarrelling in Judges’ Chambers and elsewhere; if you don’t try this case before long I’ll see what can be done.” Then there was further consolation in the fact that Horatio declared that, in his opinion, Tommy _Catpup_, Q.C., would knock Snooks into a cocked hat, and that Snooks already looked very down in the mouth.
