The Humourous Story of Farmer Bumpkin's Lawsuit Part 11

"Now, who's my counsellor gwine to be?" asked the farmer.

"Oh," said Horatio, "a regular cruncher-Mr. Catapult."

"He be a cruncher, be he?"

"I believe you; he turned a man inside out the other day; a money-lender he was."

"Did ur now?"

"Look at that," said Joe.

"And we're going to have Mr. Dynamite for junior; my eye, don't he make a row!"

"Two an em!" exclaimed b.u.mpkin.

"Must have two for the plaintiff," said Horatio; "that's the law. Why, a Queen's Counsel ain't allowed to open a case without a junior starts him-it's jist like the engine-driver and the guard. You have the junior to shove the leader."

"Look at that," said Joe; expectorating into the fire.

Mr. b.u.mpkin looked again at Nancy, and gave another wink that you might have heard.

"And the tother side?" he asked.

"Ah! I don't know about them," said the boy. "They're artful dodgers, they are."

"Is 'em now? but artfulness don't allays win, do ur?"

"No," said Horatio; "but it goes a long way, and sometimes when it's gone a long way it beats itself."

"Look at that," said Joe; "that's like that ere-"

"Be quiet, Joe," said b.u.mpkin; "let I talk, will ur? You said it beats itself, sir?"

"If the judge gets 'old of him, it's sure to," said Horatio. "There ain't no judge on the Bench as will let artfulness win if he knows it.

I've sin em watchin like a cat watches a mouse; and directly it comes out o' the 'ole, down he is on em-like that:" and he slapped his hand on the table with startling effect.

"Good!" said b.u.mpkin.

"And don't they know who the solicitor is, eh-that's all! My word, if he's a shady one-the judge is down on the case like winkin."

"And be this ere Locust a shady un?" (Another wink at Mrs. b.u.mpkin.)

"Ah! I'm too young to know."

"Thee beest too old, thee meanest," said Mrs. b.u.mpkin, laughing.

"Now hold thee tongue, Nancy; I wur gwine to say that myself-dang if I warnt!"

"Now look at thic," said Joe; "maister were gwine to say thic."

"So I wur," repeated b.u.mpkin. "Jist got the word o' th' tip o' th'

tongue."

"And be these Queen's Counsellors," he asked, "summat grand?"

"I believe you," said Horatio; "they wears silk gowns."

"Do em?" said Mrs. b.u.mpkin, laughing. "Silk gowns-and what kind o'

petticoats?"

"Shut up," said b.u.mpkin; "thee be as igorant as a donkey; these Queen's Counsellors be made for their larnin and cleverness, beant em, sir?"

"Well," said Horatio, "n.o.body ever could make out-some of em are pretty good, and some of em ain't much-not near so good as the others."

"But this ere Mr. Catapult be a good un, bean't he-a regler crunsher?"

"O, I believe you, my boy: his look's enough for some of em."

"I spoase he be dear?" (Another wink at Mrs. b.u.mpkin.)

"They're all dear," said Horatio; "some of em are dear because their fees are high; and some of em would be dear at a gift, but I'm too young to know much about it."

"Now hark at that," said Joe; "like that air old horse o' Morris'."

"Hold thee tongue, Joe, I tell ee, putten thy spoke in; does thee think the Queen 'as old 'orses in her stable? It's merit, I tell ee-ain't it, Mr. Jigger?"

"Merit, sir; I believe it's merit." And thus in pleasant conversation the evening pa.s.sed merrily away, until the clock striking nine warned the company that it was time to retire.

A bright, brisk frosty morning succeeded, and a substantial breakfast of bacon, eggs, fresh b.u.t.ter, and home-made bread, at seven o'clock, somewhat astonished and delighted the youthful Horatio; and then the old horse, with plenty of hair about his heels, was brought round with the gig. And Mr. b.u.mpkin and his guest got up and took their seats. The old Market Town was about seven miles off, and the road lay through the most picturesque scenery of the county. To ride on such a pleasant morning through such a country almost made one think that swearing affidavits was the most pleasing occupation of life. It was the first time Horatio had ever ridden in a gig: the horse went a good old market pace, and the beautiful sunshine, lovely scenery, and crisp air produced in his youthful bosom a peculiarly charming and delightful sense of exhilaration. He praised the country and the weather and the horse, and asked if it was what they called a thoroughbred.

"Chit!" said b.u.mpkin, "thoroughbred! So be I thoroughbred-did thee ever see thoroughbred wi' 'air on his 'eels?'

"Well, he goes well," said Horatio.

"Gooes well enough for I," said b.u.mpkin.

This answer somewhat abashed Horatio, who was unlearned in horses; for some time he remained silent. Then it became Mr. b.u.mpkin's turn to renew the conversation:

"I spoase," said he, "thee be gwine to be a loryer?"

"Not if I know it," answered Horatio.

"Why not, then?"

"Don't care for it; I like the country."

"What wouldst thee like to be then, a farmer?"