Mr. Bumpkin determines to maintain a discreet silence about his case at the Old Bailey—Mr. Prigg confers with him thereon.

And I saw that Mr. Bumpkin’s case did not come on. Day by day passed away, and still it was not in the paper. The reason, however, is simple, and need not be told to any except those of my readers who are under the impression that the expeditious administration of justice is of any consequence. It was obvious to the most simple-minded that the case could not be taken for a day or two, because there was a block in every one of the three Courts devoted to the trial of Nisi Prius actions. And you know as well as anyone, Mr. Bumpkin, that when you get a load of turnips, or what not, in the market town blocked by innumerable other turnip carts, you must wait. Patience, therefore, good Bumpkin. Justice may be slow-footed, but she is sure handed; she may be blind and deaf, but she is not dumb; as you shall see if you look into one of the “blocked Courts” where a trial has been going on for the last sixteen days. A case involving a dispute of no consequence to any person in the world, and in which there is absolutely nothing except—O rare phenomenon!—plenty of money. It was interesting only on account of the bickerings between the learned counsel, and the occasionally friendly altercations between the Bench and the Bar. But the papers had written it into a cause cÉlÈbre, and made it a dramatic entertainment for the beauty and the chivalry of England. So Mr. Bumpkin had still to wait; but it enabled him to attend comfortably the February sittings of the Old Bailey, where his other case was to be tried.

When Mr. Prigg read the account of the proceedings before the Lord Mayor, he was very much concerned, not to say annoyed, because he was under the impression that he ought to have been consulted. Not knowing what to do under the circumstances, he resolved, after due consideration, to get into a hansom and drive down to the “Goose.” Mr. Prigg, as I have before observed, was swift in decision and prompt in action. He had no sooner resolved to see Bumpkin than to Bumpkin he went. But his client was out; it was uncertain when he would be in. Judge of Mr. Prigg’s disappointment! He left word that he would call again; he did call again, and, after much dodging on the part of the wily Bumpkin, he was obliged to surrender himself a captive to honest Prigg.

“My dear Mr. Bumpkin,” exclaimed he, taking both the hands of his client into his own and yielding him a double measure of friendship; “is it possible—have you been robbed? Is it you in the paper this morning in this very extraordinary case?”

Bumpkin looked and blushed. He was not a liar, but truth is not always the most convenient thing, say what you will.

“I see,” said Mr. Prigg; “quite so—quite so! Now how did this happen?”

Bumpkin still looked and blushed.

“Ah!” said Mr. Prigg; “just so. But who was this companion?”

Bumpkin muttered “A friend!”

“O! O! O!” said Mr. Prigg, drawing a long face and placing the fore-finger of his left hand perpendicularly from the tip of his nose to the top of his forehead.

“Noa,” said Bumpkin, “’taint none o’ that nuther; I beant a man o’ that sort.”

“Well, well,” said Mr. Prigg, “I only thought I’d call, you know, in case there should be anything which might in any way affect our action.”

Mr. Bumpkin, conscious of his moral rectitude, like all good men, was fearless: he knew that nothing which he had done would affect the merits of his case, and, therefore, instead of replying to the subtle question of his adviser, he merely enquired of that gentleman when he thought the case would be on. The usual question.

Mr. Prigg rubbed his hands and glanced his eyes as though just under his left elbow was a very deep well, at the bottom of which lay that inestimable jewel, truth. “Really,” Mr. Bumpkin, “I expect every hour to see us in the paper. It’s very extraordinary; they have no less than three Courts sitting, as I daresay you are aware. No less than—let me see, my mind’s so full of business, I have seven cases ready to come on. Where was I? O, I know; I say there are no less than three Courts, under the continuous sittings system, and yet we seem to make no progress in the diminution of the tremendous and overwhelming mass of business that pours in upon us.”

Mr. Bumpkin said “Hem!”

“You see,” continued Mr. Prigg, “there’s one thing, we shall not last long when we do come on.”

“Shan’t ur?”

“You see there’s only one witness, besides yourself, on our side.”

“And ’eve gone for a soger,” said Mr. Bumpkin.

“A soldier!” exclaimed Prigg. “A soldier, my dear Bumpkin. No—no—you don’t say so, really!”

“Ay, sure ’ave ur; and wot the devil I be to do agin that there Snooks, as ’ll lie through a brick wall, I beant able to say. I be pooty nigh off my chump wot wi’ one thing and another.”

“Off what, sir?” enquired Mr. Prigg.

“Chump,” shouted Bumpkin.

“O, indeed, yes; dear me, you don’t say so. Well, now I’m glad I called. I must see about this. What regiment did you say he’d joined?”

“Hoosors!”

“Ha! dear me, has he, indeed?” said Mr. Prigg, noting it down in his pocket-book. “What a pity for a young man like that to throw himself away—such an intelligent young fellow, too, and might have done so well; dear me!”

“Ha,” answered Bumpkin, “there worn’t a better feller at plough nor thic there; and he could mend a barrer or a ’arrer, and turn his ’and to pooty nigh anything about t’ farm.”

“And is there any reason that can be assigned for this extraordinary conduct? Wasn’t in debt, I suppose?”

Mr. Bumpkin laughed one of his old big fireside laughs such as he had not indulged in lately.

“Debt! why they wouldn’t trust un a shoe-string. Where the devil wur such a chap as thic to get money to get into debt wi’?”

“My dear sir, we don’t want money to get into debt with; we get into debt when we have none.”

“Do ur, sir. Then if I hadn’t ’ad any money I’d like to know ’ow fur thee’d ha’ trusted I.”

“Dear me,” said Mr. Prigg, “what a very curious way of putting it! But, however, soldier or no soldier, we must have his evidence. I must see about it: I must go to the dÉpÔt. Now, with regard to your case at the Old Bailey.”

“Well,” said Mr. Bumpkin, rather testily; “I be bound over to proserkit, and that be all I knows about un. I got to give seam evidence as I guv afore the Lord Mayor, and the Lord Mayor said as the case wur clear, and away it went for trial.”

“Indeed! dear me!”

“And I got to tak no trouble at all about un, but to keep my mouth shut till the case comes on, that’s what the pleeceman told I. I bean’t to talk about un, or to tak any money not to proserkit.”

“O dear, no,” said Mr. Prigg. “O dear, dear, no; you would be compounding a felony.” (Here Mr. Prigg made a note in his diary to this effect:—“Attending you at ‘The Goose’ at Westminster, when you informed me that you were the prosecutor in a case at the Old Bailey, and in which I advised you not, under any circumstances, to accept a compromise or money for the purpose of withdrawing from the prosecution, and strongly impressed upon you that such conduct would amount in law to a misdemeanor. Long conference with you thereon, when you promised to abide by my advice, £1 6s. 0d.”).

“Now,” said Bumpkin, “it seem to me that turn which way I wool, there be too much law, too many pitfalls; I be gettin’ sick on’t.”

“Well,” said Mr. Prigg, “we have only to do our duty in that station of life in which we are called, and we have no cause to fear. Now you know you would not have liked that unprincipled man, Snooks, to have the laugh of you, would you now?”

Mr. Bumpkin clenched his fist as he said, “Noa, I’d sooner lose every penny I got than thic there feller should ha’ the grin o’ me.”

“Quite so,” said the straightforward moralist. “Quite so! dear me! Well, well, I must wish you good morning, for really I am so overwhelmed with work that I hardly know which way to turn—bye, bye. I will take care to keep you posted up in—.” Here Mr. Prigg’s cab drove off, and I could not ascertain whether the posting up was to be in the state of the list or in the lawyer’s ledger.

“What a nice man!” said the landlady.

Yes, that was Mr. Prigg’s character, go where he would: “A nice man!”