“Be gormed if I ban’t like a cat on hot bricks to hear ’e! wan might think as Miller was the Devil hisself for cruelty instead o’ bein’, as all knaws, the most muty-hearted[4] faither in Chagford.”
“As to that, I doan’t knaw, Billy,” declared Mr. Lyddon stoutly; “I be a man as metes out to the world same measure as I get from the world. Right is right, an’ law is law; an’ if I doan’t have the law of Will Blanchard—”
“There’s little enough you can do, I believe,” said Hicks; “and what satisfaction lies in it, I should like to know, if it’s not a rude question?”
The old man answered with some bitterness, and explained his power.
“William Blanchard’s done abduction, according to Lawyer Bellamy of Plymouth; an’ abduction’s felony, and that’s a big thing, however you look ’pon it.”
“Long an’ short is,” cut in Billy, who much desired to air a little of his new knowledge, “that he can get a sentence inside the limits of two years, with or without hard labour; at mercy of judge and jury. That’s his dose or not his dose, ’cording to the gracious gudeness of Miller.”
“Will’s nearly ready to go,” said Clement. “Let his arm once be restored, and he’ll do your hard labour with a good heart, I promise you. He wants to please Mr. Lyddon, and will tackle two months or two years or twenty.”
“Two an’ not a second less—with hard labour I’ll wager, when all’s taken into account.”
“Why are you so hot, Billy Blee? You’re none the worse.”
“Billy’s very jealous for me, same as Elijah was for the Lard o’ Hosts,” said Mr. Lyddon.