“So ’tis,” agreed the clerk. “I reckon he’d skip if I was to tell him all that his little charmer said to-day. He! He!”
“Well then,” said Jim, and paused—“that’s how it is,” he added lamely. “The job ’ud be easy done.”
“Jus’ so,” responded Cross. “The easiest thing in the world. But I’m not for undertaking no jobs as are not worth my while. Now I might get rid o’ Trooper Willcocks for a five-pun’ note, not less.”
A pause of consternation ensued; then Jim Hardy thumped the table with his fist. “I think it ’ud be easier and cheaper to break the feller’s boanes straight off,” he shouted.
Sam extended a forefinger in his direction, “You look out, Jim! You should know better nor say such things in the hearin’ o’ them whose dooty it is to uphold the law. If any harm comes to Trooper Willcocks, I shall be bound in conscience to give my evidence. Now, gentlemen, what be all looking so glum for? Five pound ain’t such a terror! It needn’t be paid in a note if it comes to that, nor all at the one time. Half within the week, say, an’ t’other half at the end o’ the month. I wouldn’t be hard with you, an’ Trooper Willcocks would certainly be a good riddance.”
They gathered round him again and after much argument, some laughter, and a good deal of swearing, came to terms with Samuel, who carried away with him that night a curious document, signed by half a dozen names, and drawn up entirely to his own satisfaction.
Trooper Willcocks was swaggering about just outside the church door on the following Sunday, when he was accosted by Samuel Cross.
“I was looking for you,” began the latter, drawing him aside. “I have a word or two to say to you, Mr. Willcocks.”
“Won’t another day do?” returned the yeoman. “The service will be over in a few minutes, and I’m waitin’ for a young lady.”
“Indeed,” said Sam, “might I make so bold as to inquire if the lady’s name is Miss Anne Clarke?”