"Their attorney—you their attorney—attorney of Whistle & Sharp," said the stranger, slowly and musingly, scratching his head with his fore-finger.
"Got anything for 'em or agin 'em?" inquired Ike.
"Are they good pay?" inquired the stranger.
"Always pays at the end of an execution," replied Ike—"never before—allers takes a receipt on the docket—makes their settlements a matter of record—puts things where they can't be ripp'd up—best way, ain't it, stranger?"
The stranger grunted, "Humph!"
"And then," said Ike, "there's no dispute 'bout authority to collect. Everybody can't tell who everybody's agent is. One New York clark run'd away one year with all the collections from Puddleford in his breeches-pocket; but the court has authority—gin'ral jurisdiction—and the discharge of a court is a discharge what is a discharge."
"That's a real opinion," exclaimed Longbow, who had not spoken for half an hour; "there's nothin' like a court to put a finish onter things;" and the Squire gave two or three heavy coughs, and blew his nose into his red cotton handkerchief, and doubling it up into a wad, looked around very gravely at Farindale as he dropped it back into his hat.
"Authority! The authority of courts to collect debts! They may have authority, but I never saw a court that had the power to collect a debt of me," exclaimed the Colonel, shifting his tobacco from one side of his mouth to the other as he spoke; "and I never put in a plea in my life—the plea always puts itself in, and is a dead bar to further proceedings every time—'no assets'—'nothing whereon to levy'"—
"Nully Bony! Nully Bony! you mean," said the Squire, horror-stricken at the Colonel's use of law language.
"That's it," said Bates; "hain't got nothin' to get onter"—