CHAPTER XXXIV.
Mr. Bumpkin receives compliments from distinguished persons.
One evening as Mr. Bumpkin was sitting in his little parlour, ruminating, or as he termed it, “rummaging” in his mind over many things, and especially wondering when the trial would come on, Horatio, in breathless impatience, entered the room. His excited and cheerful appearance indicated that something of an unusually pleasant nature had occurred. A strong intimacy had long been established between this boy and Mr. Bumpkin, who regarded Horatio as a kind of legal prodigy; his very hopes seemed centered in and inspired by this lad. He seemed to be the guiding spirit and the flywheel of the whole proceedings. Was Snooks to be pulverized? it must be under Horatio’s heel!
This legal stripling brought almost as much comfort as Mr. Prigg himself; and it was quite a pleasure to hear the familiar terms in which he spoke of the bigwigs of the profession. He would say of McCannister, the Queen’s Counsel, “I like Mac’s style of putting a question, it’s so soft like—it goes down like a Pick-me-up.” Then he would allude to Mr. Heavytop, Q.C., as Jack; to Mr. Bigpot as old Kettledrum; to Mr. Swagger, Q.C., as Pat; to B. C. Windbag, Q.C., M.P., as B. C.—all which indicated to the mind of Mr. Bumpkin the particularly
intimate terms upon which Horatio was with these celebrities. Nor did his intimacy cease there: instead of speaking of the highest legal official of the land in terms of respectful deference, as “my Lord High Chancellor,” or “my Lord Allworthy,”—he would say, in the most indifferent manner “Old Allworthy” this, and “Old Allworthy,” that; sometimes even, he ventured to call some of Her Majesty’s Judges by nick-names; an example which, I trust, will not be followed by the Horatios of the future. But I believe the pale boy, like his great namesake, was fearless. It was a comfort to hear him denounce the law’s delay, and the terrible “cumbersomeness” of legal proceedings: not that he did it in soothing language or in happy phraseology: it was rather in a manner that led Mr. Bumpkin to believe the young champion was standing up for his particular rights; as if he had said to the authorities, whoever they might be, “Look here! I’ll have no more of this: it’s a shame and disgrace to this country that a simple dispute between a couple of neighbours can’t be tried without months of quarrelling in Judges’ Chambers and elsewhere; if you don’t try this case before long I’ll see what can be done.” Then there was further consolation in the fact that Horatio declared that, in his opinion, Tommy Catpup, Q.C., would knock Snooks into a cocked hat, and that Snooks already looked very down in the mouth.
On the evening at which I have arrived in my dream, when the pale boy came in, Mr. Bumpkin inquired what was the matter: was the case settled? Had Snooks paid the damages? Nothing of the kind. Horatio’s visit was of a common-place nature. He had simply come to inform Mr. Bumpkin that the Archbishop of
Canterbury had kindly sent him a couple of tickets for the reserved seats at Canterbury Hall.
Mr. Bumpkin was disappointed. He cared nothing for Archbishops. He was in hopes it had been something better.
“I wunt goo,” said he.
“We ought to go, I think,” said Horatio; “it was very kind of old Archy to send em, and he wouldn’t like it if we didn’t go: besides, he and the Rolls are great chums.”