Mr. Alibi is stricken with a thunderbolt—interview with Horatio and Mr. Prigg.

The “round square,” as the facetious Don called the new style of putting the round judicial pegs into the square judicial holes, had indeed been applied with great effect on this occasion; for I perceived that Mr. Alibi, remarkable man, was not only engaged on the part of the Crown to prosecute, but also on that of the prisoner to defend. And this fact came to my knowledge in the manner following:

When Mr. Bumpkin got into the lower part of that magnificent pile of buildings which we have agreed to call the Heart of Civilisation, he soon became the centre of a dirty mob of undersized beings who were anxious to obtain a sight of him; and many of whom were waiting to congratulate their friend, the engraver. Amidst the crowd was Mr. Alibi. That gentleman had no intention of meeting Mr. Bumpkin any more, for certain expenses were due to him as a witness, and it had long been a custom at the Old Bailey, that if the representative of the Crown did not see the witnesses the expenses due to them would fall into the Consolidated Fund, so that it was a clear gain to the State if its representative officers did not meet the witnesses. On this occasion, however, Mr. Alibi ran against his client accidentally, and being a courteous gentleman, could not forbear condoling with him on the unsuccessful termination of his case.

“You, see,” began Mr. Alibi, “I was instructed so late—really, the wonder is, when gentlemen don’t employ a solicitor till the last moment, how we ever lay hold of the facts at all. Now look at your case, sir. Yes, yes, I’m coming—bother my clerks, how they worry—I’ll be there directly.”

“But thic feller,” said Mr. Bumpkin, “who had my case din’t know nowt about it. I could ha’ done un better mysel.”

“Ah, sir; so we are all apt to think. He’s a most clever man, that—a very rising man, sir.”

“Be he?” said Bumpkin.

“Why, do you know, sir,” continued Mr. Alibi, “he was very great at his University.”

“That bean’t everything, though, by a long way.”

“No, sir, granted, granted. But he was Number Four in his boat; and the papers all said his feathering was beautiful.”

“A good boatman, wur he?”

“Magnificent, sir; magnificent!”

“Then he’d better keep a ferry; bean’t no good at law.”

“Ah! I am afraid you are a little prejudiced. He’s a very learned man.”

“I wish he’d larned to open his mouth. Why, I got a duck can quack a devilish sight better un thic feller can talk.”

“Ha, how d’ye do, Mr. Swindle?” said a shabby-looking gentleman, who came up at this moment.

“Excuse me, sir; but you have the advantage of me,” said Alibi, winking.

“Dear me, how very strange, I thought you were Mr. Wideawake’s representative.”

“Ah!” said Mr. Alibi, laughing, “we are often taken for brothers—and yet, would you believe me, there is no relationship.”

“No?” said the gentleman.

“None, whatever. I think you’ll find him in the Second Court, if not, he’ll be there in a short time. I saw him only just now.”

That is how I learned that Mr. Alibi represented the Crown and Mr. Deadandgone for the prosecutor; also the prisoner, and Mr. Wideawake for the defence. Clever man!

“Now,” said Mr. Bumpkin, “Can’t un get a new trial?”

“I fear not,” said Alibi; “but I should not be in the least surprised if that Wideawake, who represented the prisoner, brought an action against you for false imprisonment and malicious prosecution.”

“What, thic thief?”

“Ah, sir—law is a very deep pit—it’s depth is not to be measured by any moral plummet.”

“Doan’t ’zacly zee’t.”

“Well, it’s this,” said Mr. Alibi. “Whether you’re right or whether you’re wrong, if he brings an action you must defend it—it’s not your being in the right will save you.”

“Then, what wool?” asked Mr. Bumpkin.

Mr. Alibi did not know, unless it was instructing him in due time and not leaving it to the last moment. That seemed the only safe course.

Mr. Bumpkin took off his hat, drew out his handkerchief, and wiped the perspiration from his forehead. Then he breathed heavily. Now at this moment a strange phenomenon occurred, not to be passed over in this truthful history. Past Mr. Bumpkin’s ear something shot, in appearance like a human fist, in velocity like a thunderbolt, and unfortunately it alighted full on the nose and eye of the great Mr. Alibi, causing that gentleman to reel back into the arms of the faithful thieves around. I cannot tell from what quarter it proceeded, it was so sudden, but I saw that in the neighbourhood whence it came stood five tall hussars, and I heard a voice say:

“Now, look at that. Come on, Maister, don’t let us git into no row.”

Mr. Bumpkin, with the politeness of his nature, said:

“Good marnin’, sir,” and retired.

And thus thought the unfortunate prosecutor: “This ’ere country be all law, actions grows out o’ actions, like that ’ere cooch that runs all over everywhere’s.” And then he saw the five recruits strutting along with their caps at the side of their heads, the straps across their chins, their riding-whips under their arms, and walking with such a swagger that one would have thought they had just put down a rebellion, or set up a throne.

It was some time before, in the confusion of his mind, the disappointed Bumpkin could realize the fact that there was any connection between him and the military. But as he looked, with half-closed eyes, suddenly the thought crossed his mind: “Why, that be like our Joe—that middle un.”

And so it was: they were walking at a fastish pace, and as they strutted along Joe seemed to be marching away with the whole farm and with all the pleasures of his past life. Even Mrs. Bumpkin herself, in some extraordinary manner, seemed to be eloping with him. Why was it? And now, despondent, disappointed and humiliated, with his blood once more up, poor old Bumpkin bethought himself seriously of his position. For weeks he had been waiting for his case to “come on”; weeks more might pass idly away unless he made a stir. So he would call at the office of Mr. Prigg. And being an artful man, he had a reason for calling without further delay. It was this: his desire to see Prigg before that gentleman should hear of his defeat. Prigg would certainly blame him for not employing a solicitor, or going to the Public Prosecutor. So to Prigg’s he went about three o’clock on that Thursday afternoon. I do not undertake to describe furniture, so I say nothing of Prigg’s dingy office, except this, that if Prigg had been a spider, it was just the sort of corner in which I should have expected him to spin his web. Being a man of enormous practice, and in all probability having some fifty to sixty representatives of county families to confer with, two hours elapsed before Mr. Bumpkin could be introduced. The place, small as it was, was filled with tin boxes bearing, no doubt, eminent names. Horatio was busy copying drafts of marriage settlements, conveyances, and other matters of great importance. He had little time for gossip because his work seemed urgent, and although he was particularly glad to see Mr. Bumpkin, yet being a lad of strict adherence to duty, he always replied courteously, but in the smallest number of words to that gentleman’s questions.

“Will ur be long?” asked the client; “I don’t think so,” said Horatio.

Then in a whisper, asked Mr. Bumpkin, “How does thee think, sir, we shall get on: win, shan’t us?”

Horatio just raised his face from the paper and winked, as though he were conveying a valuable secret.

“Have ur heard anythink, sir?”

Another artful wink.

“Thee know’s zummat, I knows thee do.”

Another artful wink.

“Thee can tell I, surely? I wunt let un goo no furder.”

Horatio winked once more, and made a face at the door where the great Prigg was supposed to be.

“Ain’t give in, ave ur?”

Horatio put his finger in his mouth and made a popping noise as he pulled it out.

“What the devil does thee mean, lad? there be zummat up, I’ll swear.”

“Hush! hush!”

“Now, look here,” said Bumpkin, taking out his purse; “thee beest a good chap, and writ out thic brief, didn’t thee? I got zummat for thee;” and hereupon he handed Horatio half-a-crown.

The youth took the money, spun it into the air, caught it in the palm of his hand, spat on it for good luck, and put it in his pocket

“I’ll have a spree with that,” said he, “if I never do again.”

“Be careful, lad,” said Bumpkin, “don’t fool un away.”

“Not I,” said Horatio; “I’m on for the Argille tonight, please the pigs.”

“Be thic a place o’ wusship” said Bumpkin, laughing.

“Not exactly,” answered Horatio; “it’s a place where you can just do the gentleman on the cheap, shoulder it with noblemen’s sons, and some of the highest. Would you like to go now, just for a lark? I’m sure you’d like it.”

“Not I,” said the client; “this ’ere Lunnun life doan’t do for I.’.’

“Yes; but this is a nice quiet sort of place.”

“Gals, I spoase.”

“Rather; I believe you my boy; stunners too.”

“Thee be too young, it’s my thinking.”

“Well, that’s what the Governor says; everybody says I’m too young; but I hope to mend that fault, Master Bumpkin, if I don’t get the better of any other.”

“I wish I wur as old in the ’ead; but tell I, lad, hast thee ’eard anything? Thee might just as well tell I; it wunt goo no furder.”

Horatio put his finger to his nose and made a number of dumb signs, expressive of more than mere words could convey.

“Danged if I can mak’ thee out,” said Bumpkin.

“You recollect that ride we had in the gig.”

“Ha, now it’s coming,” thought he; “I shall have un now,” so he answered: “Well, it wur nice, wurn’t ur?”

“Never enjoyed myself more in my life,” rejoined Horatio; “what a nice morning it was!”

“Beautiful!”

“And do you recollect the rum and milk?”

Mr. Bumpkin remembered it.

“Well, I believe that rum and milk was the luckiest investment you ever made. Hallo! there’s the bell—hush, mither woy!”

“Dang thee!” said Bumpkin, “thee’s got un;” and he followed the youthful clerk into Mr. Prigg’s room.

There sat that distinguished lawyer with his respectable head, in his easy chair, much worn, both himself and the chair, by constant use. There sat the good creature ready to offer himself up on the altar of Benevolence for the good of the first comer. His collar was still unruffled, so was his temper, notwithstanding the severe strain of the county families. There was his clear complexion indicating the continued health resulting from a well-spent life. His almost angelic features were beautiful rather in the amiability of their expression than in their loveliness of form. Anyone looking at him for the first time must exclaim, “Dear me, what a nice man!”

“Well, Mr. Bumpkin,” said he, extending his left hand lazily as though it were the last effort of exhausted humanity, “how are we now?”—always identifying himself with Bumpkin, as though he should say “We are in the same boat, brother; come what may, we sink or swim together—how are we now?”

“Bean’t wery well,” answered Mr. Bumpkin, “I can tell ’ee.”

“What’s the matter? dear me, why, what’s the matter? We must be cool, you know. Nothing like coolness, if we are to win our battle.”

“Lookee ’ere,” said Bumpkin; “lookee ’ere, sir; I bin here dordlin’ about off an’ on six weeks, and this ’ere dam trial—”

“Sh—sh!” remonstrated Mr. Prigg with the softest voice, and just lifting his left hand on a level with his forehead. “Let us learn resignation, good Mr. Bumpkin. Let us learn it at the feet of disappointment and losses and crosses.”

“Yes, yes,” said Bumpkin; “but thic larnin’ be spensive, I be payin’ for it.”

“Mr. Bumpkin,” said the good man sternly, “the dispensations of Providence are not to be denounced in this way. You are a man, Bumpkin; let us act, then, the man’s part. You see these boxes, these names: they represent men who have gone through the furnace; let us be patient.”

“But I be sick on it. I wish I’d never know’d what law wur.”

“Ah, sir, most of us would like to exist in that state of wild and uncultured freedom which only savages and beasts are permitted to enjoy; but life has higher aims, Mr. Bumpkin; grander pursuits; more sublime duties.”

“Well, sir, I bean’t no schollard and so can’t argify; but if thee plase to tell I, sir, when this case o’ mine be likely to come on—”

“I was just that minute going to write to you, Mr. Bumpkin, as your name was announced, to say that it would not be taken until next term.”

Mr. Bumpkin uttered an exclamation which is not for print, and which caused the good Prigg to clap his hands to his ears and press them tightly for five minutes. Then he took them away and rubbed them together (I mean his hands), as though he were washing them from the contaminating influence of Mr. Bumpkin’s language.

“Quite so,” he said, mechanically; “dear me!”

“What be quite so,” asked Mr. Bumpkin.

“Yes—yes—you see,” said Prigg, “Her Majesty’s Judges have to go circuit; or, as it is technically called, jail delivery.”

“They be allays gwine suckitt.”

“Quite so. That is precisely what the profession is always observing. No sooner do they return from one circuit than they start off on another. Are you aware, Mr. Bumpkin, that we pay a judge five thousand a-year to try a pickpocket?”

“Hem!” said Bumpkin, “I bean’t aware on it. Never used t’ have so many o’ these ’ere—what d’ye call ’ems?”

“Circuits. No—but you see, here now is an instance. There’s a prisoner away somewhere, I think down at Bodmin, hundreds of miles off, and I believe he has sent to say that they must come down and try him at once, for he can’t wait.”

“I’d mak’ un wait. Why should honest men wait for sich as he? I bin waitin’ long enough.”

“Quite so. And the consequence is that the Lord Chief Justice of England is going down to try him, a common pickpocket, I believe, and his Lordship is the very head of the Judicial Body.”

“Hem!” said Mr. Bumpkin; “then I may as well goo hoame?”

“Quite so,” answered the amiable Prigg; “in fact, better—much better.”

“An’ we shan’t come on now, sir; bean’t there no chance?”

“Not the least, my dear sir; but you see we have not been idle; we have been advancing, in fact, during the whole time that has seemed to you so long. Now, just look, my dear sir; we have fought no less than ten appeals, right up, mind you, to the Court of Appeal itself; we have fought two demurrers; we have compelled them three times to give better answers to our interrogatories, and we have had fourteen other summonses at Chambers on which they have not thought proper to appeal beyond the Judge. Now, Mr. Bumpkin, after that, I think you ought to be satisfied; but really that is one of the most disparaging things in the profession, the most disparaging, I may say; we find it so difficult to show our clients that we have done enough for them.”

“An’ thee think, sir, as we shall win un?” said Bumpkin.

“Well,” said Mr. Prigg, “I never like to prophesy; but if ever a case looked like winning it’s Bumpkin v. Snooks. And I may tell you this, Mr. Bumpkin, only pray don’t say that I told you.”

“What be thic, sir?” asked the eager client, with his eyes open as widely as ever client’s can be.

“The other side are in a tre-men-dous way!”

“What, funkin’, be um? I said so. That there Snooks be a rank bad un—now, then, we’ll at un like steam.”

“All in good time, Bumpkin,” said the worthy Prigg, affectionately taking his client’s hand. “All in good time. My kind regards to Mrs. Bumpkin. I suppose you return to-night?”

“Ay, sir, I be off by the fust train. Good day t’ ye, sir; good day and thankee.”

Thus comforted and thus grateful did the confiding client take leave of his legal adviser, who immediately took down his costs-book and booked a long conference, including the two hours that Mr. Bumpkin was kept in the “outer office.” This followed immediately after another “long conference with you when you thought we should be in the paper to-morrow from what a certain Mr. O’Rapley had told you, and I thought we should not.”

As he passed through the “outer office” he shook. Horatio by the hand. “Good-bye, sir. I knows what it wur now—bean’t comin’ on.”

“Don’t say I told you,” said the pale boy, as though he were afraid of communicating some tremendous secret.

“Noa, thee bean’t told I. Now, lookee ’ere, Mr. Jigger, come down when thee like; I shall be rare and prood to see thee, and so’ll Missus.”

“Thanks,” said Horatio; “I’ll be sure and come. Mither woy!”

“Ha! mither woy, lad! that’s ur; thee got un. Good-bye.”