The next day I did not get up till nine, having no journey before me, as I intended to pass that day at Machynlleth. When I went down to the parlour I found another guest there, breakfasting. He was a tall, burly, and clever-looking man of about thirty-five. As we breakfasted together at the same table, we entered into conversation. I learned from him that he was an attorney from a town at some distance, and was come over to Machynlleth to the petty sessions, to be held that day, in order to defend a person accused of spearing a salmon in the river. I asked him who his client was.
“A farmer,” said he, “a tenant of Lord V—, who will probably preside over the bench which will try the affair.”
“O,” said I, “a tenant spearing his landlord’s fish—that’s bad.”
“No,” said he, “the fish which he speared—that is, which he is accused of spearing—did not belong to his landlord, but to another person; he hires land of Lord V—, but the fishing of the river which runs through that land belongs to Sir Watkin.”
“O, then,” said I, “supposing he did spear the salmon, I shan’t break my heart if you get him off; do you think you shall?”
“I don’t know,” said he. “There’s the evidence of two keepers against him; one of whom I hope, however, to make appear a scoundrel, in whose oath the slightest confidence is not to be placed. I shouldn’t wonder if I make my client appear a persecuted lamb. The worst is, that he has the character of being rather fond of fish—indeed, of having speared more salmon than any other six individuals in the neighbourhood.”
“I really should like to see him,” said I; “what kind of person is he? some fine, desperate-looking fellow, I suppose?”
“You will see him presently,” said the lawyer; “he is in the passage, waiting till I call him in to take some instructions from him; and I think I had better do so now, for I have breakfasted, and time is wearing away.”
He then got up, took some papers out of a carpet bag, sat down, and after glancing at them for a minute or two, went to the door and called to somebody in Welsh to come in. Forthwith in came a small, mean, wizened-faced man of about sixty, dressed in a black coat and hat, drab breeches and gaiters, and looking more like a decayed Methodist preacher than a spearer of imperial salmon.
“Well,” said the attorney, “this is my client; what do you think of him?”