The last night before the first London expedition, which gives occasion
to recall pleasant reminiscences.
"I, Bumpkin, make oath and say," having been duly presented, and the
Commissioner having duly placed the Testament in Mr. Bumpkin's hands, and
said to him that to the best of his knowledge and belief the contents of
the "I Bumpkin" paper were true, the matter was over, and Mr. Snigger,
with the valuable document in his possession, might have returned to
London by the next train. But as Horatio afterwards observed to a
friend, he "was not quite so green." It was market day; Mr. Bumpkin was
a genial companion, and had asked him to partake of the Market Ordinary.
So thither at one o'clock they repaired, and a very fine dinner the pale
youth disposed of. It seemed in proportion to the wonderful brief whose
merits they had previously discussed. More and more did Horatio think
that a farmer's life was the life for him. He had never seen such
"feeding;" more and more would he like that month on trial in the
country; more and more inclined was he to throw up the whole blessed law
at once and for ever. This partly-formed resolution he communicated to
Mr. Bumpkin, and assured him that, but for the case of _Bumpkin_ v.
_Snooks_, he would do so on that very afternoon, and wash his hands of
it.
"I don't want," said he, "to leave you in the lurch, Mr. Bumpkin, or else
I'd cut it at once, and throw this affidavit into the fire."
"Come, come," said the farmer, "thee beest a young man, don't do nowt
that be wrong--stick to thy employer like a man, and when thee leaves,
leave like a man."
"As soon as your case is over, I shall hook it, Mr. Bumpkin. And now let
me see--you'll have to come to London in a week or two, for I am pretty
nigh sure we shall be in the paper by that time. I shall see you when
you come up--where shall you stay?"
"Danged if I know; I be a straanger in Lunnun."
"Well, now, look 'ere, Mr. Bumpkin, I can tell you of a very nice quiet
public-house in Westminster where you'll be at home; the woman, I
believe, comes from your part of the country, and so does the landlord."
"What be the naame o' the public 'ouse?" asked Mr. Bumpkin.
"It's the sign of the 'Goose,' and stands just a little way off from the
water-side."
"The Goose" sounded countryfied and homelike, and being near the water
would be pleasant, and the landlord and landlady being Somersetshire
people would also be pleasant.
"Be it a dear plaace?" he inquired.
"Oh, no; dirt cheap."
"Ah, that air _dirt_ cheap I doan't like--I likes it a bit clean like."
"Oh, yes, clean as a smelt--clean as ever it can be; and I'll bespeak
your lodgings for you if you like, and all."
"Well, thankee, sir, thankee," said the farmer, shaking hands with the
youth, and giving him a half-sovereign. "I be proud to know thee." And
thus they parted: Horatio returning to his office, and Mr. Bumpkin
driving home at what is called a "shig-shog" pace, reflecting upon all
the events that had transpired during that memorable day.
Pretty much the same as ever went on the things at the farm, and the
weeks passed by, and the autumn was over, and Christmas Day came and
went, and the Assizes came and went, and _Bumpkin_ v. _Snooks_ alone in
all the world seemed to stand still. One day in the autumn a friend of
Mr. Prigg's came and asked the favour of a day's fishing, which was
granted with Mr. Bumpkin's usual cordiality. He was not only to fish on
that day, but to come whenever he liked, and make the house his "hoame,
like." So he came and fished, and partook of the hospitality of the
homely but plentiful table, and enjoyed himself as often as he pleased.
He was a most agreeable man, and knew how to talk. Understood a good
deal about agriculture and sheep breeding, and quite enjoyed a walk with
Mr. Bumpkin round the farm. This happened five or six times during the
autumn. He was reticent when Mr. Bumpkin mentioned the lawsuit, because
he knew so little about legal proceedings. Nor could Mr. Bumpkin "draw
him out" on any point. Nothing could be ascertained concerning him
except that he had a place in Yorkshire, and was in London on a visit;
that he had known Mr. Prigg for a good many years, and always "found him
the same." At last, the month of February came, and the long expected
letter from Mr. Prigg. Bumpkin and Joe were to be in London on the
following day, for it was expected they would be in the paper. What a
flutter of preparation there was at the farm! Bumpkin was eager, Mrs.
Bumpkin anxious. She had never liked the lawsuit, but had never once
murmured; now she seemed to have a presentiment which she was too wise to
express. And she went about her preparations for her husband's leaving
with all the courage she could command. It was, however, impossible
entirely to repress her feelings, and now and again as she was packing
the flannels and worsted stockings, a tear would force its way in spite
of all she could do.
Night came, and the fireside was as cosy as ever. But there was a sense
of sadness nevertheless. Tim seemed to understand that something was not
quite as it should be, for he was restless, and looked up plaintively in
his master's face, and went to Joe and put his head in his lap; then
turned away and stretched himself out on the hearth, winking his eyes at
the fire.
It is always a melancholy effort to "keep up the spirits" when the moment
of separation is at hand. One longs for the last shake of the hand and
the final good-bye. This was the case at Southwood Farm on this
memorable evening. Nothing in the room looked as usual. The pewter
plates on the shelf shone indeed, but it was like the smile of a winter
sun; it lacked the usual cheery warmth. Even the old clock seemed to
feel sad as he ticked out with melancholy monotony the parting moments;
and the wind, as it came in heavy gusts and howled round the old chimney,
seemed more melancholy than need be under the circumstances.
"Thee must be careful, Tom," said Mrs. Bumpkin; "that Lunnun, as I hear,
be a terrible plaace."
"How be un a terrible plaace?" said Bumpkin, sarcastically. "I bean't a
child, Nancy."
"No, thee bean't a child, Tom; but thee bean't up to Lunnun ways: there
be thieves and murderers, and what not."
"Thieves and murderers!"
"And Joe, doan't ee git out o' nights; if anything 'appened to thee, thy
old mother 'ud brak her 'art."
"Look ee 'ere," said Joe, "I bean't got nuthin' to lose, so I bean't
afeared o' thieves."
"No, but thee might git into trouble, thee might be led away."
"So might thic bull," said Joe; "but I'd like to zee what 'ud become o'
the chap as led un."
"Chap as led un!" said Mrs. Bumpkin, laughing.
"I'd gie un a crack o' the canister," said Joe.
"Don't thee git knockin' down, Joe, unless thee be 'bliged," said Mrs.
Bumpkin; "keep out o' bad company, and don't stay out o' nights."
"And lookee 'ere, Joe," said Bumpkin, "when thee comes afore th'
Counsellor wi' wig on, hold up thee head; look un straight in t' face and
spak oop. Thee needn't be afeared t' spak t' truth."
"I bean't afeard," said Joe; "I mind me when old Morris wur at plough,
and I was leadin' th' 'orses, Morris says, says he, 'Now then, cock,
let's see if we can't git a eend this time;' so on we goes, and jist
afore I gits the 'orses to eend o' t' field, Dobbin turns, and then, dash
my bootons, the tother turns after un, and me tryin' to keep em oop,
Dobbin gits his legs over the trace. Well, Morris wur that wild, he
says, says he, 'Damme, if yer doan't look sharp, I'll gie thee a crack o'
t' canister wi' this 'ere whippense presny'" (presently).
"Crack o' the canister!" laughed Mrs. Bumpkin, "and that's what Morris
called thy head, eh?"
This was a capital hit on Joe's part, for it set them thinking of the
events of old times, and Joe, seeing the effect of it, ventured upon
another anecdote relating to the old carter.
"Thee recollect, master, when that there Mr. Gearns come down to shoot;
lor, lor, what a queer un he wur, surely!"
"Couldn't shoot a hit," said Bumpkin.
"Not he. Wall, we was carrying wheat, and Morris wur loadin, and jest as
we gits the last pitch on t' load, right through th' 'orses legs runds a
rat. Gearns wi'out more ado oops wi' his loaded gun and bangs her off
right under t' 'orses legs; up jumps th' 'orse, and Morris wur wery nigh
tossed head fust into th' yard. Wall, he makes no moore ado, for he
didn't keer, gemman or no gemman--didn't Morris--"
"No more ur didn't, Joe," said Mrs. Bumpkin.
"He makes no moore ado, but he up and said, 'damme,' he says, 'sir, you
might as well a said you was gwine to shoot; you might a had me off and
broked my neck.'"
"Haw! haw! haw!" laughed Mr. Bumpkin, and "Well done, Morris," said Mrs.
Bumpkin.
"Wall," said Joe, "this ere gemman says, 'It wouldn't er bin much loss,'
he says, 'if he had!' 'Damme,' roars Morris, 'it had a bin as much wally
to me as yourn, anyhow.'"
They all remembered the story, and even Tim seemed to remember it too,
for when they laughed he wagged his tail and laughed with them.
And thus the evening dragged along and bed time came.
In the morning all was in readiness, and the plaintiff with his witness
drove away in the gig to the station, where Morris waited to bring the
old horse back.
And as the train came into the little country station I awoke.
* * * * *
"I hope," cried my wife, "that Mr. Prigg is a respectable man."
"Respectable," I answered, "I know he is; but whether he is honest is
another matter."
"But don't you know?"
"I only know what I dream."
"I have no opinion of him," said she; "nor of that Locust; I believe they
are a couple of rogues."
"I should be very sorry to suggest such a thing as that," I answered,
"without some proof. Everybody should give credit for the best of
motives."
"But what are all these summonses you speak of?"
"O, they are summonses in the action. You may have as many of them as
you can invent occasion for. You may go up to the Court of Appeal about
twenty times before you try the action, which means about eighty
different hearings before Master and Judges."
"But how can a poor man endure that? It's a great shame."
"He can't--he may have a perfectly good cause of action against a rich
man or a rich company, and they can utterly ruin him before ever his case
can come into Court."
"But will no solicitor take it up for the poor man?"
"Yes, some will, and the only reward they usually get for their pains is
to be stigmatized as having brought a speculative action--accused of
doing it for the sake of costs; although I have known the most honourable
men do it out of pure sympathy for the poor man."
"And so they ought," cried she.
"And I trust," said I, "that hereafter it will be considered honourable
to do so. It is quite as honourable, in my judgment, to bring an action
when you may never be paid as to bring it when you know you will be."
"Who was the person referred to as 'the man?'"
"I don't know," said I, "but I strongly suspect he is, in reality, a
nominee of Prigg's."
"That is exactly my opinion," said my wife. "And if so, between them,
they will ruin that poor man."
"I can't tell," said I, lighting my pipe. "I know no more about the
future of my dream than you do; maybe when I sleep again something else
will transpire."
"But can no one do anything to alter this state of things? I plainly
perceive that they are all against this poor Bumpkin."
"Well, you see, in a tinkering sort of way, a good many try their hands
at reforming the law; but it's to no one's interest, that I can see, to
reform it."
"I hope you'll write this dream and publish it, so that someone's eyes
may be opened."
"It may make me enemies."
"Not among honest people; they will all be on your side, and the
dishonest ones, who seem to me to be the only persons benefited by such a
dilatory and shocking mode of procedure, are the very persons whose
enmity you need not fear. But can the Judges do nothing?"
"No; their duty is merely to administer the law, not to change it. But
if the people would only give them full power and fair play, Old Fogeyism
would be buried to-morrow. They struggle might and main to break through
the fetters, but to no purpose while they are hampered by musty old
precedents, ridiculous forms and bad statutes. They are not masters of
the situation. I wish they were for the sake of suitors. I would only
make one condition with regard to them. If they were to set about the
task of reform, I would not let the Equity Judges reform the Common Law
nor the Common Law Judges the Equity."
"I thought they were fused."
"No, only transposed."