"I don't believe it: not if you are half the man you ought to be."
"But how can I help it?"
"Help it? Just go and take her. Saddle your horse and her own, take 'em up to the cottage, and ask her just to come outside for a minute. And if you don't persuade her in five minutes to ride away with you to Ballarat, I'll eat my head off. I know she don't want to marry Frank; all she wants is an excuse not to, and it will be excuse enough when she has married you."
These two worthy men went to the Hotel and talked the matter over with Howell. The jolly landlord slapped his knee and laughed. He said: "You are right, Bill. She'll go, I'll bet a fiver, and here it is, Lock; you take it to help you along."
This base conspiracy was successful, and that was the reason Frank was so sulky on that harvest morning.
He was meditating vengeance. Love and hate, matrimony and murder, are sometimes not far asunder, but Frank was not by nature vengeful; he had that "foolish hanging of the nether lip which shows a lack of decision."
I would not advise any man to seek in a law court a sovereign remedy for the wounds inflicted by the shafts of Cupid; but Frank tried it. During his examination in chief his mien was gloomy and his answers brief.
Then Mr. Aspinall rose and said: "I appear for the defendant, your Honour, but from press of other engagements I have been unable to give that attention to the legal aspects of this case which its importance demands, and I have to request that your Honour will be good enough to adjourn the court for a quarter of an hour."
The court was adjourned for half an hour, and Mr. Aspinall and his solicitor retired to a room for a legal consultation. It began thus:
"I say, Lane, fetch me a nobbler of brandy; a stiffener, mind."