“Here’s your good health again, Mr. Bumpkin.”
“And yours, sir; and now I think on it, if it’s a fair question Mr. O’Rapley, and I med ax un wirout contempt, when do you think this ’ere case o’ mine be likely to come on, for you ought to know summut about un?”
“Ha!” said the Don, partially closing one eye, and looking profoundly into the glass as though he were
divining the future, “law, sir, is a mystery and judges is a mystery; masters is a mystery and ’sociates is a mystery; ushers is a mystery and counsel is a mystery;—the whole of life (here he tipped the contents of the glass down his throat) is a mystery.”
“So it be,” said Mr. Bumpkin, drawing the back of his hand across his mouth. “So it be sir, but do ’ee think—”
“Well, really,” answered the Don, “I should say in about a couple of years if you ask me.”
“How the h—”
“Excuse me, Master Bumpkin, but contempt follers us like a shadder: if you had said that to a Judge it would have been a year at least: it’s three months as it is if I liked to go on with the case; but I’m not a wicious man, I hope.”
“I didn’t mean no offence,” said the farmer.
“No, no, I dare say not; but still there is a way of doing things. Now if you had said to me, ‘Mr. O’Rapley, you are a gentleman moving in judicial circles, and are probably acquainted with the windings of the,’ &c. &c. &c. ‘Can you inform me why my case is being so unduly prolonged?’ Now if you had put your question in that form I should in all probability have answered: ‘I do not see that it is unduly prolonged, Master Bumpkin—you must have patience. Judges are but human and it’s a wonder to me they are as much as that, seein’ what they have to go through.’”