“Well, it is supposed as it ull be on to-morrer; but I bleeve there’s no sartinty about thic. Now then, just give us a little moore, will ’ee sir?” (this to the waiter).
“I’ll pay for the next,” said O’Rapley, feeling in his pocket.
“Noa, noa, I’ll pay; and thankee, sir, for comin’.”
And then O’Rapley drank his friend’s health again, and wished further success to the case, and hoped Mr. Bumpkin would be sure to come to him when he was at Westminster; and expressed himself desirous to assist his friend in every way that lay in his power—declaring that he really must be going for he didn’t know what would happen if the Judge should find he was away; and was not at all certain it would not lead to some officious member of the House of Commons asking a question of the Prime Minister about it.
Mr. Bumpkin drank his good health, again and again, declaring he was “mighty proud to have met with un;” and that when the case was over and he had returned to his farm, he should be pleased if Mr. O’Rapley would come down and spend a few days with him. “Nancy,” he said, “’ll be rare and pleased to see thee. I got as nice a little farm as any in the county, and as pooty pigs as thee ever clapped eyes on.”
Mr. O’Rapley, without being too condescending, expressed himself highly gratified with making Mr. Bumpkin’s acquaintance, and observed that the finest pigs ever he saw were those of the Lord Chief Justice.
“Dade, sir, now what sort be they?” Mr. O’Rapley was not learned in pigs, and not knowing the name of any breed whatever, was at a loss how to describe them. Mr. Bumpkin came to his assistance.
“Be they smooth like and slim?”
“Yes,” said the Don.
“Hardly any hair?”