“Now, look at that. Come on, Maister, don’t let us git into no row.”
Mr. Bumpkin, with the politeness of his nature, said:
“Good marnin’, sir,” and retired.
And thus thought the unfortunate prosecutor: “This ’ere country be all law, actions grows out o’ actions, like that ’ere cooch that runs all over everywhere’s.” And then he saw the five recruits strutting along with their caps at the side of their heads, the straps across their chins, their riding-whips under their arms, and walking with such a swagger that one would have thought they had just put down a rebellion, or set up a throne.
It was some time before, in the confusion of his mind, the disappointed Bumpkin could realize the fact that there was any connection between him and the military. But as he looked, with half-closed eyes, suddenly the thought crossed his mind: “Why, that be like our Joe—that middle un.”
And so it was: they were walking at a fastish pace, and as they strutted along Joe seemed to be marching
away with the whole farm and with all the pleasures of his past life. Even Mrs. Bumpkin herself, in some extraordinary manner, seemed to be eloping with him. Why was it? And now, despondent, disappointed and humiliated, with his blood once more up, poor old Bumpkin bethought himself seriously of his position. For weeks he had been waiting for his case to “come on”; weeks more might pass idly away unless he made a stir. So he would call at the office of Mr. Prigg. And being an artful man, he had a reason for calling without further delay. It was this: his desire to see Prigg before that gentleman should hear of his defeat. Prigg would certainly blame him for not employing a solicitor, or going to the Public Prosecutor. So to Prigg’s he went about three o’clock on that Thursday afternoon. I do not undertake to describe furniture, so I say nothing of Prigg’s dingy office, except this, that if Prigg had been a spider, it was just the sort of corner in which I should have expected him to spin his web. Being a man of enormous practice, and in all probability having some fifty to sixty representatives of county families to confer with, two hours elapsed before Mr. Bumpkin could be introduced. The place, small as it was, was filled with tin boxes bearing, no doubt, eminent names. Horatio was busy copying drafts of marriage settlements, conveyances, and other matters of great importance. He had little time for gossip because his work seemed urgent, and although he was particularly glad to see Mr. Bumpkin, yet being a lad of strict adherence to duty, he always replied courteously, but in the smallest number of words to that gentleman’s questions.
“Will ur be long?” asked the client; “I don’t think so,” said Horatio.
Then in a whisper, asked Mr. Bumpkin, “How does thee think, sir, we shall get on: win, shan’t us?”
Horatio just raised his face from the paper and winked, as though he were conveying a valuable secret.