“That will be worth hearing,” said Mrs. Clinch. “They 'll have the first lawyers from Dublin on each side.”
“Did you hear the trick they played off on Joe Nelligan about it?” asked the Captain. “It was cleverly done. Magennis found out, some way or other, that Joe wanted to be engaged against him; and so what does he do but gets a servant dressed up in the Martin livery, and sends him to Joe's house on the box of a coach, inside of which was a gentleman that begged a word with the Counsellor. 'You 're not engaged, I hope, Counsellor Nelligan,' says he, 'in Magennis against Martin?' 'No,' says Joe, for he caught a glimpse of the livery. 'You're quite free?' says the other. 'Quite free,' says he. 'That's all I want, then,' says he; 'here's your brief, and here's your retainer;' and he put both down on the table, and when Joe looked down he saw he was booked for Magennis. You may imagine how he felt; but he never uttered a word, for there was no help for it.”
“And do you mean to tell me,” cried Mrs. Clinch, “that the lawyers can't help themselves, but must just talk and rant and swear for any one that asks them first?”
“It's exactly what I mean, ma'am,” responded the Captain. “They 've no more choice in the matter than the hangman has as to who be 'll hang.”
“Then I'd as soon be a gauger!” exclaimed the lady, with a contemptuous glance at poor Clinch, who winced under the observation.
“But I don't see what they wanted young Nelligan for,” said Miss Busk; “what experience or knowledge has he?”
“He's just the first man of the day,” said Bodkin. “They tell me that whether it be to crook out a flaw in the enemy's case, to pick a hole in a statement, to crush a witness, or cajole the jury, old Repton himself is n't his equal.”
“I suppose, from the airs he gives himself, he must be something wonderful,” said Mrs. Cronan.
“Well, now, I differ from you there, ma'am,” replied Bodkin. “I think Joe is just what he always was. He was cold, silent, and distant as a boy, and he 's the same as a man. Look at him when he comes down here at the Assizes, down to the town where his father is selling glue and hides and tenpenny-nails, and he 's just as easy and unconstrained as if the old man was Lord of Cro' Martin Castle.”
“That's the height of impertinence,” broke in Miss Busk; “it's only real blood has any right to rise above the depreciating accidents of condition. I know it by myself.”