“Let’s go see Mister Re’fearn,” suggested Ben.
“I’m afraid he may think we want to ask him to help us out. We must take no money, Ben, from anybody. We’ll keep our good names if we lose every stick we have.”
“Oh! tha needn’t be so tetchy, Tom, Redfearn’s nooan fooil enough to lend us money to throw away. But yo’ know he’s had more deealin’s wi’ th’ law nor us, an’ though it gooas agen th’ grain, aw expec’ we’st ha’ to put a lawyer on to this job. We mun set a thief to catch a thief, aw ma’ no daat.”
So Tom and Ben set off for Fairbank’s and were fortunate enough to find Mr. Redfearn at home. He would hear no talk of business till all had sat down to a good dinner in his own well-furnished sitting room. “Folk always look on th’ gloomy side of things when their belly’s empty,” he observed, “an’ taking too doleful a way o’ lookin’ at things is just as foolish as takin’ too cheerful a one,” from which profound truism it will be seen that the farmer had learned something in the school of life that is not taught in academies or college. He listened at first to the story that Tom unfolded with the utmost attention and gravity. He even insisted on Tom reading to him the Chancery Bill and the pile of affidavits, but the prolixity and tautology of the legal phrasing soothed him like a soporific.
“It’s like bein’ i’ Church,” he muttered drowsily; and presently to complete the analogy, fell into a slumber from which he was only aroused by the entrance of Mrs. Redfearn with decanters, lemon, sugar and hot water, and a bottle of home-made rhubarb wine for the special cheer of Tom, whose habits she knew.
“Yo’ munnot think aw’ve been asleep” said Fairbanks. “Aw wer’ thinkin’, an’ aw can allus think best wi’ mi e’en shut. Th’ missus theer ’ll tell yo’ aw speik th’ truth, for ’oo often thinks awm asleep when ’oo’s givin’ me a leckter upstairs; but aw know ivvery word oo’s said th’ next mornin’ better than ’oo does hersen.”
“An’ much good my talkin’ does you, and much notice you take of it,” said Mrs. Redfearn, “but if yo’ have been thinkin’ let’s hear what you’ve thowt on.”
“Tell Aleck to put Bob i’ th’ shafts. We’r’ bahn to Huddersfilt. This is a lawyer’s job, Tom, an’ aw think aw know th’ varry man for yo’. Yo’ know Sykes 0’ Wrigley Mill. He’s a lad i’ Huddersfilt ’at used to be a sort o’ teacher wi’ Mr. Black, an’ then wer’ ’prenticed to a ’torney in th’ taan. He’s started for hissen now. He’s as full o’ law as an egg’s full o’ meit, so folk sayn. But he’ll neer ma’ much aat awm feeart, for when he gets on his hind legs to speik, d— me if he can say boh! to a gooise. His wits all go a wool gatherin’ but he knows th’ law, none better, aw’m towd. An’ believe me or believe me not aw do think he’s honest so that wi’ his narvousness an’ his honesty, he’ll not mak’ much aat as a ’torney. Aw’m feart oather on ’em’s a drawback i’ his job; but both together’s enough to sink a clivverer man nor Edwin Sykes ’ll ever be.”
It cannot be said that the anxious trio got much comfort from Mr. Sykes. He told them frankly that at the very best the litigation must be costly and prolonged, and that in the long run the Court would probably be guided by the weight and authority of the expert evidence.
“Now that means purse against purse. And I’m afraid, Mr. Pinder, that our guns are neither so many nor so heavy as our opponent’s. And Wimpenny won’t give us much rest.”