In which it appears that the sting of slander is not always in the head.

Mr. Prigg lost no time in addressing a letter to the ill-advised Josiah Snooks with the familiar and affectionate commencement of “Dear Sir,’” asking for compensation for the “gross outrage” he had committed upon “his client;” and an apology to be printed in such papers as he, the client, should select.

The “Dear Sir” replied, not in writing, for he was too artful for that, but by returning, as became his vulgar nature, Mr. Prigg’s letter in a very torn and disgusting condition.

To a gentleman of cultivated mind and sensitive nature, this was intolerable; and Mr. Prigg knew that even the golden bridge of compromise was now destroyed. He no longer felt as a mere lawyer, anxious in the interests of his client, which was a sufficient number of horse-power for anything, but like an outraged and insulted gentleman, which was more after the force of hydraulic pressure than any calculable amount of horse-power. It was clear to his upright and sensitive mind that Snooks was a low creature. Consequently all professional courtesies were at an end: the writ was issued and duly served upon the uncompromising Snooks. Now a writ is not a matter to grin at and to treat with contempt or levity. Mr. Snooks could not return that document to Mr. Prigg, so he had to consider. And first he consulted his wife: this consultation led to a domestic brawl and then to his kicking one of his horses in the stomach. Then he threw a shovel at his dog, and next the thought occurred to him that he had better go and see Mr. Locust. This gentleman was a solicitor who practised at petty sessions. He did not practise much, but that was, perhaps, his misfortune rather than his fault. He was a small, fiery haired man, with a close cut tuft of beard; small eyes, and a pimply nose, which showed an ostentatious disdain for everything beneath it.

Mr. Locust was not at home, but would return about nine. At nine, therefore, the impatient Snooks appeared.

“Yes,” said Mr. Locust, as he looked at the writ, “I see this writ is issued by Mr. Prigg.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Did he not write to you before issuing it?—dear me, this is very sharp practice—very sharp practice: the sharpest thing I ever heard of in all my life.”

“Wull, he did write, but I giv un as good as he sent.”

“Dear me!” exclaimed Mr. Locust; “I am afraid you have committed yourself.”

“No I beant, sir,” said the cunning Snooks, with a grin, “no I beant.”

“You should never write without consulting a solicitor—bear that in mind, Mr. Snooks; it will be an invaluable lesson—hem!”

“I never writ, sir—I ony sent un his letter back.”

“Ah!” said Locust, “come now, that is better; but still you should have consulted me. I see this claim is for three hundred and fifty pounds—it’s for trespass. Now sit down quietly and calmly, and tell me the facts.” And then he took pen and paper and placed himself in position to take his retainer and instructions.

“Wull, sir, it is as this: a Sunday mornin—no, a Sunday mornin week—I won’t tell no lie if I knows it—a Sunday mornin week—”

“Sunday morning week,” writes Locust.

“I buyd a pig off this ere man for nine and six: well, o’ the Monday mornin I goes with my barrer and a sack and I fetches the pig and gies the money to his man Joe Wurzel; leastways I puts it on the poast and he takes it up. Then out comes Bumpkin and swears I never bought un at all, gets in a rage and hits the bag wi’ a stick—”

“Now stop,” said the Lawyer; “are you quite sure he did not strike you? That’s the point.”

“Well, sir, he would a’ done if I adn’t a bobbed.”

“Good: that’s an assault in law. You are sure he would have struck you if you hadn’t ducked or bobbed your head?”

“In course it would, else why should I bob?”

“Just so—just so. Now then, we’ve got him there—we’ve got him nicely.”

Snooks’ eyes gleamed.

“Next I want to know: I suppose you didn’t owe him anything?”

“No, nor no other man,” said Snooks, with an air of triumph. “I worked hard for what I got, and no man can’t ax me for a farden. I allays paid twenty shillings in the pound.”

The reader will observe how virtuous both parties were on this point.

“So!” said Locust. “Now you haven’t told me all that took place.”

“That be about all, sir.”

“Yes, yes; but I suppose there was something said between you—did you have any words—was he angry—did he call you any names or say anything in an angry way?”

“Well, not partickler—”

“Not particular: I will judge of that. Just tell me what was said.”

“When, sir?”

“Well, begin on the Sunday morning. What was first said?”

Then Snooks told the Solicitor all that took place, with sundry additions which his imagination supplied when his memory failed.

“And I member the price wull, becos he said ‘You beant sellin coals, recollect, so you doant ave me.”

“Ho! ho!” exclaimed Locust rubbing his hands, “You are sure he said that?” writing down the words carefully.

“I be.”

“That will do, we’ve got him: we’ve got him nicely. Was anybody present when he said this?”

“Yes, sir. Joe were there, and t’ best o’ my belief, Mrs. Bumpkin.”

“Never mind Mrs. Bumpkin. I don’t suppose she was there, if you come to recollect; it’s quite enough if Joe was present and could hear what was said. I suppose he could hear it?”

“Stood cloase by.”

“Very well—that is slander—and slander of a very gross kind. We’ve got him.”

“Be it?” said Snooks.

“I’ll show you,” said Locust; “in law a man slanders you if he insinuates that you are dishonest; now what does this Bumpkin do? he says ‘you don’t have me,’ meaning thereby that you don’t trick him out of his pig; and, ‘you are not selling coals,’ meaning that when you do sell coals you do trick people. Do you see?—that you cheat them, in fact rob them.”

Snooks thought Mr. Locust the most wonderful man he had ever come across. This was quite a new way of putting it.

“But ur didn’t say as much,” he said, wondering whether that made any difference.

“Perfectly immaterial in law,” said Mr. Locust: “it isn’t what a man says, it’s what he means: you put that in by an innuendo—”

“A what, sir? begging pardon—”

“It’s what we lawyers call an innuendo: that is to say, making out that a man says so and so when he doesn’t.”

“I zee,” said the artful Snooks, quick at apprehending every point. “Then if he called a chap a devilish honest man and the innu—what d’ye call it, meant he were a thief, you got him?”

“Well,” said Mr. Locust, smiling, “that is going rather far, Mr. Snooks, but I see you understand what I mean.”

“I thinks so, sir. I thinks I has your meanin.”

“It’s a very gross slander,” observed Mr. Locust, “and especially upon a tradesman in your position. I suppose now you have lived in the neighbourhood a considerable time?”

“All my life, sir.”

“Ah! just so, just so—now let me see; and, if I remember rightly, you have a vote for the County.”

“I ave, sir, and allus votes blue, and that’s moore.”

“Then you’re on our side. I’m very glad indeed to hear that; a vote’s a vote, you know, now-a-days.”

Any one would have thought, to hear Mr. Locust, that votes were scarce commodities, whereas we know that they are among the most plentiful articles of commerce as well as the cheapest.

“And you have, I think, a family, Mr. Snooks.”

“Four on em, sir.”

“Ah! how very nice, how laudable to make a little provision for them: as I often say, if a man can only leave his children a few hundreds apiece, it’s something.”

The solicitor watched his client’s face as he uttered this profound truism, and the face being as open and genuine as was Snooks’ character, it said plainly enough “Yes, I have a few hundreds.”

“Well then,” continued Mr. Locust, “having been in business all these years, and being, as times go, tolerably successful, being a careful man, and having got together by honest industry a nice little independency—”

Here the learned gentleman paused, and here, unfortunately, Snooks’ open and candid heart revealed itself through his open and candid countenance.

“I believe,” said Mr. Locust, “I am right?”

“You’re about right, sir.”

“Very charming, very gratifying to one’s feelings,” continued Mr. Locust; “and then, just as you are beginning to get comfortable and getting your family placed in the world, here comes this what shall I call him, I never like to use strong language, this intolerable blackguard, and calls you a thief—a detestable thief.”

“Well, he didn’t use that air word, sir—I wool say that,” said Mr. Snooks.

“In law he did, my good man—he meant it and said it—he insinuated that you cheated the poor—you serve a good many of the poor, I think?”

“I do, sir.”

“Well, he insinuated that you cheated them by giving short weight and bad coals—that is worse than being a thief, to my mind—such a man deserves hanging.”

“Damn him,” said Snooks, “that’s it, is it?”

“That’s it, my dear sir, smooth it over as you will. I don’t want to make more of it than necessary, but we must look at it fairly and study the consequences. Now I want to ask you particularly, because we must claim special damage for this, if possible—have you lost any customers through this outrageous slander?”

“Can’t say I have, rightly, sir.”

“No, but you will—mark my words, as soon as people hear of this they will cease to deal with you. They can’t deal with you.”

“I hope not, sir.”

“So do I; but let me tell Mr. Bumpkin” (here the learned man shook his forefinger as though it had been the often quoted finger of scorn) “that for every customer you lose we’ll make him answerable in damages. He’ll repeat this slander: take my advice and get some one to look out, and make a note of it—be on your guard!”

Snooks wiped the perspiration from his forehead and then threw his large coloured handkerchief into his hat, which he held by both hands between his knees,

“It be a bad case then, sir?”

“A very bad case for Bumpkin!” replied Mr. Locust; “let me have a list of your customers as soon as you can, and we shall see who leaves you in consequence of this slander. Does my friend, Mr. Overrighteous, deal with you? I think he does?”

“He do, sir, and have for five or six years—and a good customer he be.”

“Ah! now, there’s a man! Whatever you do don’t let Mr. Overrighteous know of it: he would leave you directly: a more particular man than that can’t be. Then again, there is my friend Flythekite, does he deal with you? Of course he does!”

“Yes, sir.”

“And you’ll lose him—sure to lose him.”

Judging from Mr. Snooks’ countenance it would have been small damage if he did.

“Ve-ry well,” continued Locust, after a pause, “ve-ry well—just so.” Then he looked at the copy of the writ and perceived that it was dated eighteen hundred and ninety something instead of eighteen hundred and seventy something. So he said that the writ was wrong and they ought not to appear; “by which means,” said he, “we shall let them in at the start for a lot of costs—we shall let them in.”

“And will that stash the action?” asked Snooks.

“It will not stash ours,” said Locust. “I suppose you mean to go on whether he does or not? Your claim is for assault and slander.”

“As you please, sir.”

“No, no, as you please. I have not been called a thief—they haven’t said that I sell short weight and cheat and defraud the poor: my business will not be ruined—my character is not at stake.”

“Let un have it, sir; he be a bad un,” and here he rose to depart. Mr. Locust gave him a professional shake of the hand and wished him good day. But as the door was just about to be closed on his client, he remembered something which he desired to ask, so he called, “Mr. Snooks!”

“Sir,” said the client.

“Is there any truth in the statement that this Bumpkin beats his wife?”

“I doant rightly know,” said Snooks, in a hesitating voice; “it may be true. I shouldn’t wonder—he’s just the sort o’ man.”

“Just enquire about that, will you?”

“I wool, sir,” said Snooks; and thus his interview with his Solicitor terminated.

Now the result of the enquiries as to the domestic happiness of Bumpkin was this; first, the question floated about in a vague sort of form, “Does Bumpkin beat his wife?” then it grew into “Have you heard that Bumpkin beats his wife?” and lastly, it was affirmed that Bumpkin “really did beat his wife.” And the scandal spread so rapidly that it soon reached the ears of plaintiff himself, who would have treated it with the contempt it deserved, knowing the quarter whence it came, but that it was so gross a calumny that he determined to give the lying Snooks no quarter, and to press his action with all the energy at his command.

After this there could be no compromise.

“I wish,” said Snooks to himself, as he smoked his pipe that evening, “I could a worked one o’ them there innerenders in my trade—I could a made summut on him.”