“Think o’ that now,” he would say, “actually charging me for calling to tell him what to do, to put him up to his work, so to speak. My certy, lawyers may well ma’ their brass quick! Aw’ve a good mind to ha’ it taxed.”
“What’s that?” asked my mother.
“Why, there’s a chap i’ London ’at’s put on by th’ Lord Chancellor to go through ‘torneys’ bills an’ see they ha’ not charged too much.”
“He’ll be a lawyer hissen, ’aw reckon?” queried my mother.
“Aye, aye,” said my father, ‘set a thief to catch a thief,’ tha knows.”
“Tha’d best pay up, aw doubt na, awn heard folk tell o’ fallin’ out wi’ the devil an’ goin’ below for justice, an’ this taxin’ ’ll be after th’ same fashion. Th’ first loss is th’ least loss, an’ ‘what can’t be cured mun be endured.’ If folk will ha’ law they mun pay for their whistle, an’ you’ve had yo’r run for yo’r money.”
“Aw could ha’ thoiled it better if they’d let Mr. Brougham speik to th’ jury. Here’s twenty guineas to him, to say nowt o’ two guineas for his clerk, that did nowt ’at aw can hear tell but draw th’ brass for his mester, an’ him never allowed to oppen his mouth to th’ jury!!”
“But he’s had th’ brass ha’ not be?” asked the partner of my father’s joys and sorrows.
“Aye, he’s had it safe enough.”
“Well, by all accounts,” concluded my mother, “it’s ill gettin’ butter out o’ a dog’s throat.” And the bill was paid: the only discount my father got being a pinch of snuff from Mr. Blackburn’s silver box.