Orley Farm

asked what they had to say. Kenneby was not to divulge his facts in plain language, nor Bridget Bolster those which belonged to her; but it was open to them all to take a general view of the matter, and natural that at the present moment they should hardly be able to speak of anything else. And there was a very divided opinion on the subject in dispute; Dockwrath, of course, expressing a strong conviction in favour of a verdict of guilty, and Moulder being as certain of an acquittal. At first Moulder had been very unwilling to associate with Dockwrath; for he was a man who maintained his animosities long within his breast; but Dockwrath on this occasion was a great man, and there was some slight reflection of greatness on the associates of Dockwrath; it was only by the assistance of Dockwrath that a place could be obtained within the court, and, upon the whole, it became evident to Moulder that during such a crisis as this the society of Dockwrath must be endured.

“They can’t do anything to one if one do one’s best?” said Kenneby, who was sitting apart from the table while the others were eating.

“Of course they can’t,” said Dockwrath, who wished to inspirit the witnesses on his own side.

“It ain’t what they do, but what they say,” said Moulder; “and then everybody is looking at you. I remember a case when I was young on the road; it was at Nottingham. There had been some sugars delivered, and the rats had got at it. I’m blessed if they didn’t ask me backwards and forwards so often that I forgot whether they was seconds or thirds, though I’d sold the goods myself. And then the lawyer said he’d have me prosecuted for perjury. Well, I was that frightened, I could not stand in the box. I ain’t so green now by a good deal.”

“I’m sure you’re not, Mr. Moulder,” said Bridget, who well understood the class to which Moulder belonged.

“After that I met that lawyer in the street, and was ashamed to look him in the face. I’m blessed if he didn’t come up and shake hands with me, and tell me that he knew all along that his client hadn’t a leg to stand on. Now I call that beautiful.”

“Beautiful!” said Kenneby.

“Yes, I do. He fought that battle just as if he was sure of winning, though he knew he was going to lose. Give me the man that can fight a losing battle. Anybody can play whist with four by honours in his own hands.”

“I don’t object to four by honours either,” said Dockwrath; “and that’s the game we are going to play tomorrow.”

“And lose the rubber after all,” said Moulder.

“No, I’m blessed if we do, Mr. Moulder. If I know anything of my own profession⁠—”

“Humph!” ejaculated Moulder.

“And I shouldn’t be here in such a case as this if I didn’t;⁠—but if I do, Lady Mason has no more chance of escape than⁠—than⁠—than that bit of muffin has.” And as he spoke the savoury morsel in question disappeared from the fingers of the commercial traveller.

For a moment or two Moulder could not answer him. The portion of food in question was the last on his plate; it had been considerable in size, and required attention in mastication. Then the remaining gravy had to be picked up on the blade of the knife, and the particles of pickles collected and disposed of by the same process. But when all this had been well done, Moulder replied⁠—

“That may be your opinion, Mr. Dockwrath, and I dare say you may know what you’re about.”

“Well; I rather think I do, Mr. Moulder.”

“Mine’s different. Now when one gentleman thinks one thing and another thinks another, there’s nothing for it in my mind but for each gentleman to back his own. That’s about the ticket in this country, I believe.”

“That’s just as a gentleman may feel disposed,” said Dockwrath.

“No it ain’t. What’s the use of a man having an opinion if he won’t back it? He’s bound to back it, or else he should give way, and confess he ain’t so sure about it as he said he was. There’s no coming to an end if you don’t do that. Now there’s a ten-pound note,” and Moulder produced that amount of the root of all evil; “I’ll put that in John Kenneby’s hands, and do you cover it.” And then he looked as though there were no possible escape from the proposition which he had made.

“I decline to have anything to do with it,” said Kenneby.

“Gammon,” said Moulder; “two ten-pound notes won’t burn a hole in your pocket.”

“Suppose I should be asked a question about it tomorrow; where should I be then?”

“Don’t trouble yourself, Mr. Kenneby,” said Dockwrath; “I’m not going to bet.”

“You ain’t, ain’t you?” said Moulder.

“Certainly not, Mr. Moulder. If you understood professional matters a little better, you’d know that a professional gentleman couldn’t make a bet as to a case partly in his own hands without very great impropriety.” And Dockwrath gathered himself up, endeavouring to impress a sense of his importance on the two witnesses, even should he fail of doing so upon Mr. Moulder.

Moulder repocketed his ten-pound note, and laughed with a long, low chuckle. According to his idea of things, he had altogether got the better of the attorney upon that subject. As he himself put it so plainly, what criterion is there by which a man can test the validity of his own opinion if he be not willing to support it by a bet? A man is bound to do so, or else to give way and apologise. For many years he had insisted upon this in commercial rooms as a fundamental law in the character and conduct of gentlemen, and never yet had anything been said to him to show that in such a theory he was mistaken.

During all this Bridget Bolster sat there much delighted. It was not necessary