"Who will be there?" asked Cousin Henry after a pause.
"I shall be there," answered the clerk, not unnaturally putting himself first, "and Mr Apjohn, and perhaps one of the lads."
"There won't be any—barrister?" asked Cousin Henry, showing the extent of his fear by his voice and his countenance.
"Oh, dear, no; they won't be here till the assizes. A barrister never sees his own client. You'll go in as a witness, and will have nothing to do with the barristers till you're put up face to face before them in the witness-box. Mr Balsam is a very mild gentleman."
"He is employed by me?"
"Oh, yes; he's on our side. His own side never matters much to a witness. It's when the other side tackles you!"
"Who is the other side?" asked Cousin Henry.
"Haven't you heard?" The voice in which this was said struck terror to the poor wretch's soul. There was awe in it and pity, and something almost of advice,—as though the voice were warning him to prepare against the evil which was threatening him. "They have got Mr Cheekey!" Here the voice became even more awful. "I knew they would when I first heard what the case was to be. They've got Mr Cheekey. They don't care much about money when they're going it like that. There are many of them I have known awful enough, but he's the awfullest."
"He can't eat a fellow," said Cousin Henry, trying to look like a man with good average courage.
"No; he can't eat a fellow. It isn't that way he does it. I've known some of 'em who looked as though they were going to eat a man; but he looks as though he were going to skin you, and leave you bare for the birds to eat you. He's gentle enough at first, is Mr Cheekey."