“It’ll be lean picking, even if we win. I don’t suppose the whole concern’s worth powder and shot.”
“And why are you anxious powder and shot should be spent on Pinder?” asked Tinker, suspiciously.
“Oh, well I don’t mind telling you, Mr. Tinker. The fact is, I was rather hard hit by your beautiful niece, if you’ll excuse my saying so.”
“Well?” said Mr. Tinker, stiffly.
“But she seemed to prefer that low fellow Pinder’s company to mine, and if she’s no better taste than that, well, I’m not the one to enter the running against a screw.”
Mr. Tinker winced. “You seem to lose heart very easily, Mr. Wimpenny. Young men weren’t so easily discouraged in my young days.”
“Much you know about it,” thought the lawyer. “A spirited young woman like Dorothy Tinker’s rather a different sort of an undertaking from old Split’s scarecrow of a daughter.”
By mutual consent to the men reverted the less embarrassing question of water rights.
“Just explain to me, Wimpenny, what must be done to vindicate my rights.”
“Well, you must file a Bill in the Court of Chancery, and you must file affidavits by the oldest inhabitants as to the customary service of the water, and by analysts as to pollution, and you must go for damages, and you’ll have to get other manufacturers to assess the damages, and, oh!—yes, you might try for an interim injunction.”