“He can’t—he may have a perfectly good cause of action against a rich man or a rich company, and they can utterly ruin him before ever his case can come into Court.”
“But will no solicitor take it up for the poor man?”
“Yes, some will, and the only reward they usually get for their pains is to be stigmatized as having brought a speculative action—accused of doing it for the sake of costs; although I have known the most honourable men do it out of pure sympathy for the poor man.”
“And so they ought,” cried she.
“And I trust,” said I, “that hereafter it will be considered honourable to do so. It is quite as honourable, in my judgment, to bring an action when you may never be paid as to bring it when you know you will be.”
“Who was the person referred to as ‘the man?’”
“I don’t know,” said I, “but I strongly suspect he is, in reality, a nominee of Prigg’s.”
“That is exactly my opinion,” said my wife. “And if so, between them, they will ruin that poor man.”
“I can’t tell,” said I, lighting my pipe. “I know no more about the future of my dream than you do; maybe when I sleep again something else will transpire.”
“But can no one do anything to alter this state of things? I plainly perceive that they are all against this poor Bumpkin.”