“Dear me!” exclaimed Mr. Locust; “I am afraid you have committed yourself.”
“No I beant, sir,” said the cunning Snooks, with a grin, “no I beant.”
“You should never write without consulting a solicitor—bear that in mind, Mr. Snooks; it will be an invaluable lesson—hem!”
“I never writ, sir—I ony sent un his letter back.”
“Ah!” said Locust, “come now, that is better; but still you should have consulted me. I see this claim is for three hundred and fifty pounds—it’s for trespass. Now sit down quietly and calmly, and tell me the facts.”
And then he took pen and paper and placed himself in position to take his retainer and instructions.
“Wull, sir, it is as this: a Sunday mornin—no, a Sunday mornin week—I won’t tell no lie if I knows it—a Sunday mornin week—”
“Sunday morning week,” writes Locust.
“I buyd a pig off this ere man for nine and six: well, o’ the Monday mornin I goes with my barrer and a sack and I fetches the pig and gies the money to his man Joe Wurzel; leastways I puts it on the poast and he takes it up. Then out comes Bumpkin and swears I never bought un at all, gets in a rage and hits the bag wi’ a stick—”
“Now stop,” said the Lawyer; “are you quite sure he did not strike you? That’s the point.”