"It was law—law—that's what it was. Not but what the Transomes always won."
"And always lost," said the too-ready Scales. "Yes, yes; I think we all know the nature of law."
"There was the last suit of all made the most noise, as I understood," continued Mr. Crowder; "but it wasn't tried hereabout. They said there was a deal o' false swearing. Some young man pretended to be the true heir—let me see—I can't justly remember the names—he'd got two. He swore he was one man, and they swore he was another. However Lawyer Jermyn won it—they say he'd win a game against the Old One himself—and the young fellow turned out to be a scamp. Stop a bit—his name was Scaddon—Henry Scaddon."
Mr. Christian here let a lemon slip from his hand into the punch-bowl with a splash which sent some of the nectar into the company's faces.
"Hallo! What a bungler I am!" he said, looking as if he were quite jarred by this unusual awkwardness of his. "Go on with your tale, Mr. Crowder—a scamp named Henry Scaddon."
"Well, that's the tale," said Mr. Crowder. "He was never seen nothing of anymore. It was a deal talked of at the time—and I've sat by; and my father used to shake his head; and always when this Mrs. Transome was talked of, he used to shake his head, and say she carried things with a high hand once. But, Lord! it was before the battle of Waterloo, and I'm a poor hand at tales; I don't see much good in 'em myself—but if anybody'll tell me a cure for the sheep-rot, I'll thank him."
Here Mr. Crowder relapsed into smoking and silence, a little discomfited that the knowledge of which he had been delivered had turned out rather a shapeless and insignificant birth.
"Well, well, bygones should be bygones; there are secrets in most good families," said Mr. Scales, winking, "and this young Transome, coming back with a fortune to keep up the establishment, and have things done in a decent and gentlemanly way—it would all have been right if he'd not been this sort of Radical madman. But now he's done for himself. I heard Sir Maximus say at dinner that he would be excommunicated; and that's a pretty strong word, I take it."
"What does it mean, Scales?" said Mr. Christian, who loved tormenting.
"Ay, what's the meaning?" insisted Mr. Crowder, encouraged by finding that even Christian was in the dark.