“That was just what you did pay. Now tell the earned Commissioners what else you gave the Insolvent for that bill.”
“There was three hundred and twenty in cash—and four hundred and twenty in wines, pictures, and other objects of value——”
“Come—that only gives us seven hundred and forty,” cried the barrister: “how do you make up the rest?”
“A hundred pounds discount, sir—and——”
“A hundred pounds discount. Well—what next?”
“Sixty pounds commission, sir—and——”
“Sixty pounds commission. You have still another hundred to account for, Mr. Fopperton,” said the learned counsel, sharply. “Come—about that other hundred? and mind what you tell the Commissioners.”
“Well, sir—the hundred pounds was for bonus,” answered the fashionable tailor.
“That will do, sir: you may stand down,” said Mr. Cadgerbreef, looking significantly at the learned Commissioners, with a view of impressing it on their minds that he had just succeeded in fully unmasking a most awful rogue.
Mr. Bulliwell now rose and made a very furious speech against the Insolvent; so that a stranger unacquainted with the practice of English Courts of Justice, would have fancied that the learned counsel had some bitter and deadly motive of personal hatred against the young gentleman;—whereas all that apparent venom—that seeming spite—that assumed virulence—and that fierce eloquence were purchased by Mr. Kicksey Fopperton for a couple of guineas. The speech was cheap—yes, very cheap, when we take into consideration the almost excruciating pains that the learned gentleman took to get Frank Curtis remanded to prison for six months. So much perspiration—such frantic gesticulation—and such impassioned declamation were well worth the money; and if it did Mr. Bulliwell good to earn his two guineas on such terms, it must have been equally satisfactory to Mr. Kicksey Fopperton to obtain so good a two guineas’ worth.