“It sounds parlously like champerty and maintenance,” said Mr. Sykes, more to himself than to Dorothy.
“There’s no sham about it, sir. I mean every word of it. I’ll let my uncle see he can’t treat me as he does poor aunt, like dirt under his feet.”
“God grant I’m spared the aunt,” groaned Edwin Sykes inwardly “what with her Lucy and her own quite bewildering self there are quite women enough in the case, without introducing an aunt.”
“If I follow you, Miss Tinker, you are desirous, for your friend Lucy’s sake, to help my client with money to carry on this unfortunate litigation. Have you any idea what the costs may amount to?”
“Not the slightest. But that doesn’t matter. The money shall be found.”
“I’ve another question to ask, Miss Tinker, and a very delicate one. May I ask how old you are?”
“And this is the man that can’t say Boh! to a goose,” again thought Dorothy.
“I suppose if I’d assurance enough for a lawyer I should tell you I’m as old as my tongue and a little older than my teeth,” replied Dorothy merrily.
“That’s exactly what I’m driving at,” was the reply very seriously uttered. “I’m not at all sure that I should be justified in taking your money without my client’s knowledge and consent even if you were of full age, but from a minor!”
“Pshaw, I sha’n’t be a minor all my life. I shall be twenty one next birthday, and that’s on May 21st.”