“And then,” resumed Davis, “I packed him off again.”
“What authority had you to thrust yourself forward in this manner?” cried Beecher, passionately. “What authority?—the interest of my daughter, the Viscountess Lackington,” said Grog, with a mingled insolence and mockery. “You may safely swear it was out of no special regard for you. What authority?” And with this he burst out into a laugh of sarcastic defiance.
“It need not offend you,” said Beecher, “if I say that a question like this must be intrusted to very different hands from yours.”
“You think so, eh?”
“I'm sure of it.”
“Well, I am not; so far from it, that I'm ready to declare if I can't pull you through, there's not that man living who can. Lawyers can meet lawyers. If one wins a trick here, the other scores one there. This fellow has a deed,—that one has a codicil. It is always the same game; and they 're in no hurry to finish, for they are playing on velvet. What 's really wanting is some one that does n't care a rush for a little risk,—ready to bribe this man,—square the other,—burn a parish register, if need be, and come at—at any document that may be required,—at the peril of passing his days at Norfolk Island.”
“You fancy that the whole world is like the ring at Ascot,” said Beecher, sneeringly.
“And ain't it? What's the difference, I'd like to know? Is it noble lords like yourself would prove the contrary?”
“I will see Fordyce myself,” said Beecher, coldly.
“You needn't be at the trouble,” said Davis, calmly. “There's two ways of doing the thing: one is a compromise with the claimant, who turns out to be that young Conway, the 'Smasher.'”