“You would have no more right to use it for your own pleasure and benefit than a man who distrains a cow for rent has to enjoy the fruits of her ruminations. You could only ride the horse for the purpose of preserving its health by proper exercise,”[338] I remarked.
“I am dashed if I’d do that,” cried the publican, waxing fierce.
“You would have to do it,”[339] shrieked Blackstone, triumphantly.
“Well,” then roared the master of the establishment, “I’d sell the blamed thing quick enough.”
“If you did you would get yourself into hot water, and have to pay me the full value of the beast; for an innkeeper can’t sell a horse he detains for its board without the consent of the owner.[340] Ho! ho! ho!” laughed the little rascal.
The poor landlord looked at me with such a despairing glance—a look of a dying duck in a thunder-storm—that I could scarce restrain my risible faculties as I remarked:
“I am afraid your adversary is correct, and not even if a horse were to eat its head off could you sell it, unless you chanced to live in London or Exeter. Your only remedy would be to sue for the price of the food, get judgment, and then sell.[341] You cannot sell a right of lien, or transfer the property, without losing your right and rendering yourself liable to an action. One must proceed by suit.”[342]
The landlord turned to the rascally attorney, and shaking his fist at him, exclaimed: “Get out, and if ever you darken my door again—look out!”
“Keep cool, sir, keep cool, the day is warm. Don’t shake your fist in my face, sir. It is not the first time I’ve done the old chap,” added my unworthy confrere, turning to us with a look of importance; “and it will not be the last, unless I’ve read law for naught.”
“How did you take him in before?” I queried.