“I am here to look after the interest of the prisoner, Dan Hardy,” said Mr. Harrison firmly.
“But you’re not a lawyer. You’re only a blacksmith.”
“I know it, Squire Perkfell, but one does not need to be a lawyer to represent a person in the court of a justice of the peace. Your law books will tell you that.”
Perhaps they would, but the Squire did not know where to look for the information. He was half inclined to dispute the word of the blacksmith, but he thought better of it.
Perhaps Mr. Harrison was right, and he was entitled to represent Dan. The Squire knew enough of law to realize that a prisoner ought to be represented by some one. He thought it ought to be a lawyer, but if the blacksmith insisted, perhaps it would not be wise to disagree with him.
“Very well,” announced the Justice, after a moment’s thought, “I will allow you to represent the prisoner,—temporarily, however, only temporarily. I may change my decision later, as the case develops.”
Mr. Harrison smiled.
“I now demand the right to have a few minutes private conversation with my—my client,” said the blacksmith.
Squire Perkfell did not know what to do. This was something new in his practice.
“Don’t do it!” exclaimed Constable Wolff. “Don’t allow it, your Honor. It’s a plot t’ let him escape!”