After the trial for breach of promise of marriage, and after paying the very considerable damages which Miss Blowser demanded and received, old Mr. Fulton hardened his heart, and engaged a male chef.
The gratitude of Mrs. Gisborne, now free from all anxiety, was touching. But Merton assured her that he knew nothing whatever of the stratagem, scarcely a worthy one, he thought, as she reported it, by which her uncle was disentangled.
It was Logan’s opinion, and it is mine, that he had not been guilty of theft, but perhaps of the wrongous detention or imprisonment of Rangoon. ‘But,’ he
said, ‘the Habeas Corpus Act has no clause about cats, and in Scottish law, which is good enough for me, there is no property in cats. You can’t, legally, steal them.’
‘How do you know?’ asked Merton.
‘I took the opinion of an eminent sheriff substitute.’
‘What is that?’
‘Oh, a fearfully swagger legal official: you have nothing like it.’
‘Rum country, Scotland,’ said Merton.
‘Rum country, England,’ said Logan, indignantly. ‘You have no property in corpses.’