Chapter XII

TO say that the service of the bill in Chancery on Tom was like a bolt from the blue would be but feebly to describe the consternation with which he perused the portentous document, and in time realized its meaning and effect. Tom was absolutely unconscious that either in thought, word, or deed he had wronged any of his neighbours below stream. He had not, to his knowledge, turned more dye-water into the river, or taken more pure water from it than the reasonable working of his mill demanded, and had been afore-time accustomed by his predecessor. He had received no complaint from Mr. Tinker, no request for abatement of any nuisance he might unwittingly have committed, or infringement he might innocently have caused, Nehemiah Wimpenny in his zeal to do his client's behests, and in the animus he himself cherished against Tom, had even pretermitted the usual letter of courtesy preceding the firing of the first shot, the letter which in litigation is like the pourparlers of ambassadors preparatory to the formal declaration of war--an omission by the way, which Nehemiah had subsequent occasion to repent in sack-cloth and ashes. But for the present Nehemiah was jubilant and elate. Affidavits simply rained upon Tom. Photographers and surveyors swarmed about the banks of the Holme above and below Co-op Mill, and its waters were analysed and tested qualitatively and quantitatively as though the fate of empires depended on the issue. It was plain that Wimpenny meant to press the motion for an interim injunction, the effect of which would be to stop, if but temporarily, the work at Co-op Mill, and would of itself be as disastrous to its tenant as a final decree after full trial.

Tom and Ben discussed the situation in all its bearings.

"Aw'll tell yo' what it is," said Ben, "it's nowt but spite. Aw've known this stream, man and boy, for ovver fifty year, an' th' Co-op Mill as mony. An' a hangel fro' heaven couldn't mak' me believe as we'n done owt 'at Jabez Tinker's a reight to complain on. It's nowt but spite, Tom, it's th' owd tale ovver agen o' th' wolf an' th' lamb. He meeans to eit us up flesh an' bone, that's th' long an' th' short on it. An' what for? That lays ovver me entirely. Tha's nivver crossed him i' owt, has ta, Tom?"

And then, for the first time Tom told his friend of the offer Tinker had made to him at the close of his apprenticeship.

"An' what didn't ta tak' th' shop for, Tom? It 'ud ha' been a seet easier for thee nor startin' at th' Co-op?"

"Well, you see Ben, we'd made all our arrangements and--"

"Aye, aye, aw see, lad, tha wer' feeart aw sud think tha'd thrown me ovver. Eh, lad, me and yar Hannah an' Lucy too, for that matter, 'ud ha' gone to th' big house afore yo' sud ha' gone agen yo'r best interests for us."

"Oh, nonsense, Ben. I preferred the Co-op scheme. I never enjoyed my life so much as I have done since we went into it, and I shall never cast a regretful thought over either the labour or the wee bit money it has cost me. What worries me, Ben, so I can't sleep o'nights, is the thought of the men who have joined us and put their life-savings into the concern. I shall never hold up my head again if they are to lose their money through their confidence in me."

"And i' me, Tom, i' me, too. Yo' see, lad, yo' wer' i' a manner o' speikin' a stranger; but they'd known me all my life. But aw'm nooan feeart they'll blame oather on us, after th' first shock's ovver. But if they dunnot ma' Jabez Tinker sweeat for this job, they're nooan th' lad's aw tak' 'em for. If yo' know onybody 'at's interested i' insurance companies just yo' tell 'em to fight shy o' Wilberlee Mill," answered Ben savagely.

"That's nonsense, Ben, and yo know it. Now what's to be done?"

"Let's go see Mister Re'fearn," suggested Ben.

"I'm afraid he may think we want to ask him to help us out. We must take no money, Ben, from anybody. We'll keep our good names if we lose every stick we have."

"Oh! tha needn't be so tetchy, Tom, Redfearn's nooan fooil enough to lend us money to throw away. But yo' know he's had more deealin's wi' th' law nor us, an' though it gooas agen th' grain, aw expec' we'st ha' to put a lawyer on to this job. We mun set a thief to catch a thief, aw ma' no daat."

So Tom and Ben set off for Fairbank's and were fortunate enough to find Mr. Redfearn at home. He would hear no talk of business till all had sat down to a good dinner in his own well-furnished sitting room. "Folk always look on th' gloomy side of things when their belly's empty," he observed, "an' taking too doleful a way o' lookin' at things is just as foolish as takin' too cheerful a one," from which profound truism it will be seen that the farmer had learned something in the school of life that is not taught in academies or college. He listened at first to the story that Tom unfolded with the utmost attention and gravity. He even insisted on Tom reading to him the Chancery Bill and the pile of affidavits, but the prolixity and tautology of the legal phrasing soothed him like a soporific.

"It's like bein' i' Church," he muttered drowsily; and presently to complete the analogy, fell into a slumber from which he was only aroused by the entrance of Mrs. Redfearn with decanters, lemon, sugar and hot water, and a bottle of home-made rhubarb wine for the special cheer of Tom, whose habits she knew.

"Yo' munnot think aw've been asleep" said Fairbanks. "Aw wer' thinkin', an' aw can allus think best wi' mi e'en shut. Th' missus theer 'll tell yo' aw speik th' truth, for 'oo often thinks awm asleep when 'oo's givin' me a leckter upstairs; but aw know ivvery word oo's said th' next mornin' better than 'oo does hersen."

"An' much good my talkin' does you, and much notice you take of it," said Mrs. Redfearn, "but if yo' _have_ been thinkin' let's hear what you've thowt on."

"Tell Aleck to put Bob i' th' shafts. We'r' bahn to Huddersfilt. This is a lawyer's job, Tom, an' aw think aw know th' varry man for yo'. Yo' know Sykes 0' Wrigley Mill. He's a lad i' Huddersfilt 'at used to be a sort o' teacher wi' Mr. Black, an' then wer' 'prenticed to a 'torney in th' taan. He's started for hissen now. He's as full o' law as an egg's full o' meit, so folk sayn. But he'll neer ma' much aat awm feeart, for when he gets on his hind legs to speik, d-- me if he can say boh! to a gooise. His wits all go a wool gatherin' but he knows th' law, none better, aw'm towd. An' believe me or believe me not aw do think he's honest so that wi' his narvousness an' his honesty, he'll not mak' much aat as a 'torney. Aw'm feart oather on 'em's a drawback i' his job; but _both_ together's enough to sink a clivverer man nor Edwin Sykes 'll ever be."

It cannot be said that the anxious trio got much comfort from Mr. Sykes. He told them frankly that at the very best the litigation must be costly and prolonged, and that in the long run the Court would probably be guided by the weight and authority of the expert evidence.

"Now that means purse against purse. And I'm afraid, Mr. Pinder, that our guns are neither so many nor so heavy as our opponent's. And Wimpenny won't give us much rest."

One grain of consolation they did bear away with them, however. Mr. Sykes was able to assure them that there was small likelihood of the Court granting an _interim_ injunction.

"The Judge will know that to stop the work at the mill, even temporarily, would mean a probably irreparable loss. He won't prejudge the case on an interlocutary proceeding. That will give you time to turn yourself round, Mr. Pinder, and I should say your best plan would be to look out for a mill lower down the stream, _below_ Mr. Tinker's. Then perhaps you can have a fling at him some fine day."

"Eh! he's a deep 'un is Ned for all his quiet ways. Talks like a judge doesn't he? What's that word--inter summat?"

"Interlocutory," said Tom.

"An' just think 'at aw've cuffed that lad mony a time when aw've found him moonin abaat Fairbanks wi' a book i' his hand. It's just wonderful what education 'll do."

It did not remain a secret in Holmfirth that the new Co-op was in Chancery--name of dread import. _Omne ignotum pro magnifico_. The utmost that even the fairly well-informed could tell about Chancery was that it was a bottomless pit from which there was no escape, or a kind of legal den where the lawyers fed on the oysters called estates, flinging out the shells for the suitors to quarrel or get reconciled over. That was the utmost; but it was enough. Tom called a private meeting of all the hands and told them the facts. Their first feeling was one of blank dismay, their next and abiding feeling one of dogged resistance.

"It's the devil's plot, and hatched in hell," said the spokesman of the men who had money in the concern. "But we'll fight to the finish, an' bi what we'n heard abaat this here Chancery, th' finish 'll be abaat th' same time as th' Day o' Judgment."

The news reached Dorothy through the faithful Betty.

"Well, the law can't hurt Mr. Pinder if he's done nothing wrong," said her young mistress "The law is for evil-doers, and I suppose Mr. Pinder is not an evil-doer. He's a very innocent looking one if he is."

"Ah! it's little yo' know about th' law, or me oather, come to that. But aw keep mi ears oppen an' they _do_ say,--"

"Which, being interpreted, means 'Serjeant Ramsden of the County Constabulary,'" interrupted Dorothy, with an arch smile. "Well, what do they, _alias_ Serjeant Ramsden, say."

"Why," answered Betty in no wise abashed. "He, aw meean they, say 'at it doesn't matter a brass farden i' Chancery whether a man's i' th' reight or th' wrang. It's th' longest purse at wins i' th' long run. Th' Serjeant says, miss, 'at if Tom wins i' one court yo'r uncle can peeal to a higher court, an' on an' on till it reaches th' Lord Hissen."

"The Lords, you mean, perhaps, Betty."

"Weil, it's all as one, for ought aw can see. It's naked we come into th' world, and naked we go aat on it, an aw reckon Tom 'll be stripped pretty stark afore th' case gets up to th' Lords."

"But what's it all about, Betty? Dear me, if being in love makes a woman so tiresome as you are, I hope such a calamity will never befall me. What _has_ Mr. Pinder done?"

"Oh!" said Betty, "there's no hope o' yo'r escapin' it unless so be as yo'r minded to play a very one-sided game. But if yo' ax me what th' law stir's abaat, as far as aw can mak' aat th' _mester_ says it's abaat th' watter-reets to th' mill, but _folk_ sen it's nowt but spite, so nah yo' han it plump an' fair."

"Meaning that my uncle has gone to law with his former apprentice from some petty feeling of jealousy, or just to cripple him or even ruin him?"

"That's th' talk o'th village, choose ha."

"Well, I don't believe it, Betty. My uncle is incapable of such conduct. But I'll soon find out for myself. Get me my hat and cape this moment. I'm going out." And Dorothy walked with quick, resolute steps to Ben Garside's house. She was fortunate enough to find Lucy alone, and of this she was glad, for she was in no humour to enjoy Hannah's garrulous speech.

"What's this I hear, Lucy, about my uncle going to law with Mr. Pinder. I can make neither head nor tail of Betty at home, so I've come to you. It seems to me there's something about law that forbids people to be intelligible when they're talking of it?"

"Your uncle," said Lucy very gravely, "has served a Bill in Chancery, I think they call it, on Tom."

"What in the name of common sense is a Bill in Chancery? I know what a dressmaker's bill is, but the other variety is beyond me."

"I don't quite know all the ins and outs of it," replied Lucy, still very seriously. "But so far as I can make out your uncle complains that Tom fouls the stream and takes more water out than he's any right to, and of course as Wilberlee is lower down the stream it must injure your uncle if it's true."

"And is it true?" asked Dorothy.

"Both Tom and father say there isn't a word of truth in it."

"And you believe them?"

"Of course I do," said Lucy simply.

"Then what is there to look so gloomy about? 'Pon my word, Lucy, if you go on in the dumps like that I'll shake you. I only wish somebody would bring a false charge against me. There's nothing I should enjoy more than making them prove their words at no end of trouble and expense, and then laughing at the faces they'd pull when they failed to do it. If that's Chancery I call Chancery a very good joke."

"Aye, but Tom says it will take all they have in the world to prove that they're in the right, and that month after month, for goodness knows how long, the money that should go for wages and in carrying on the mill must go to their lawyer. So it means ruin, win or lose."

"And that's what they call law, is it?" exclaimed Dorothy. "Anybody could see a set of men noodles made it. But what are they going to do?"

"Just carry on as long as they can, and then I don't know what. It doesn't matter so much for father. He can take to his hand-loom again, and now I'm so much stronger I hope to be a help to him. I can spin wonderful. But it will be a sad blow for Tom. His whole heart and soul were in the mill. Not for the money. I never knew anyone care less for money than Tom. But the hands were so contented and father says it was to prove a social and economic revolution, whatever that may mean."

"It means apparently," said Dorothy "ruining yourself for the general good. Does Tom,--Mr. Pinder, take it much to heart?"

"He pretends not to, always tries to put a cheerful face on when he talks to mother. But I know it's just crushing the youth out of him. But it's because those that went in with him may have to lose their money. And father says there'll be no room for Tom in these parts if th' Co-op's stopped. The other manufacturers are sure to side with your uncle, and they'll none of them give Tom a job if he asked for it."

"Oh! they wouldn't, eh?" Then suddenly. "Is Tom _very_ dear to you, Lucy?"

Lucy flushed, and her eyes fell before Dorothy's questioning look. But her voice, though low, was very steady as she spoke.

"I love him very much, Dorothy. Next to the love I have for mother and father there is no one in the world to me like Tom. He is my big brother, you know," she added, with a faint smile.

"Oh! Those big brothers have a way of turning into big lovers," said Dorothy. "That's just their artful way. They get a poor innocent confiding girl to feel like a sister, and then when she begins to feel she cannot very well do without him, nothing will do but a ring and a parson. I know them," said Dorothy viciously.

"Tom will never be _my_ lover, Dorothy," said Lucy, quietly.

"And why pray, Miss Pale-face?"

"Because he loves someone else. He has loved her for years."

"What Parson Tom engaged! Tragedy upon tragedy. There are two blighted beings then; the course of their true love, ruffled by this dreadful Chancery. And who's the luckless she? This is a world of surprises. Tom was not such a bat as to look outside this house for a prettier face and a sweeter heart than he'll find inside it."

"I didn't say Tom was engaged," said Lucy.

"I know you didn't. Well, if it isn't I'll not venture another guess. Still, I'm a daughter of Eve after all, and I confess I hope Mr. Pinder is not going to throw himself away on some good-looking empty-head of a girl--a calf-love. You said it was a malady of standing, contracted young, if I remember."

"Yes, she's good-looking," said Lucy.

"_And_ empty-headed?"

"You wouldn't like me to say so."

"I! What have my likes to do with it? It's no concern of mine. Really, you stimulate my curiosity. Is it anyone I know? Does she go to our chapel?"

"Yes, she goes to Aenon," said Lucy. "But there, I'll tell you no more."

"Oh! I can guess, and thank you for nothing. It's that apprentice of Miss Baxter's, the milliner. Now don't deny it. I saw Mr. Pinder looking at her very much the last Sunday he honoured Aenon. The girl with the green gloves. The taste of some men--in dress I mean."

"Have it your own way," said Lucy, "you'll find out someday, perhaps."

"Oh! Bother Tom Pinder and his lady-loves green gloves as well. However did we get talking of such a trifle! Now, seriously, Lucy, do your father and the other want to fight this case, and can they win if they can fight."

"They say so. But what's the use of talking. If ifs and buts were apples and ducks!"

"And who knows but they are," said Dorothy, springing to her feet. She kissed Lucy with a bright face. "Don't lose heart, little pale-face. They aren't beaten yet. Tell them not to give in. I say so. Now, good-bye,--you're sure it's green gloves?"

"You know I never said so. But good-bye."

It is never safe to be certain about anything connected with the law; but the opinion may be hazarded that never in the long years of his tenancy did the office of Mr. Edwin Sykes receive a fairer client than the young lady who was closeted with that sedate professor of the gloomy science not long after the interview just recorded. The young lady did not seem in the least impressed by the sombre volumes of statutes and reports that lined the walls of the room, nor yet by the tape-bound bundles of foolscap, draft, and brief, neatly docketed, that were spread on a table by the lawyer's side, so many pot-eggs, the ribald alleged, to tempt the unwary to lay.

Dorothy had accepted the chair Mr. Sykes had handed her, but flicked its horse-hair cushion with a delicate cambric handkerchief before complying with his invitation to be seated.

"How very musty everything is," she remarked in explanation. "If I'd walked the length of New Street after sitting on your chair without first dusting it, everyone would have said either that I'd been knocked down by a tramp and robbed on my way from Holmfirth, or been to visit an attorney. There mayn't be much difference in the consequences," she added reflectively, "but I don't want all the world to know my business. You can keep a secret, I suppose, Mr. Sykes?"

"It is part of my business," the lawyer answered.

"Even from Mrs. Sykes--there is a Mrs. Sykes, I suppose."

"Well, yes, as you are good enough to ask, there _is_ a Mrs. Sykes,--and till to-day I thought her the most daring of her sex" he would have liked to add.

"Ah! That's a comfort. Now I can tell you everything. You wouldn't think now I'm in great trouble, and I want you to help me out of it, and not a living soul but you must know about it." As Dorothy looked radiantly happy as she made this doleful plaint it may be assumed that Mr. Sykes argued her case was not so desperate as her words.

"If you will tell me, Miss Tinker, the nature of your trouble I may be able to prescribe for you. We poor lawyers are not so clever as the doctors. We can't diagnose by the looks, or, I confess, I should not advise you to abandon hope."

"And this is the lawyer Ben said couldn't say Boh! to a goose," thought Dorothy.

"Now, how shall I begin?" she said.

"Suppose you try the beginning," he suggested.

"You know Mr. Pinder, of Holmfirth?" asked Dorothy, glancing at a formidable pile of papers on the desk labelled "Pinder at the suit of Tinker."

"If you mean Mr. Tom Pinder, of Co-op Mill, Hinchliff Mill, I think I may go so far as to say I do."

"Come, that's something," said Dorothy. "You are so very cautious you might have added 'without prejudice.' Now is it a very bad case?" she concluded.

"Really! Miss Tinker."

"Now I don't want any humming and ha-ing, you know, Mr. Sykes. I take a very great interest in Mr. Pinder--well, not in him you know. That's ridiculous: but in Lucy, you know" and Dorothy nodded with great significance, whilst the lawyer felt that he was getting deeper and deeper into a bog.

"I confess I don't know," he said, "and I must ask you to be a little more explicit."

"Well,--dear me! How tiresome you are--it's about this quarrel between uncle Jabez and Mr. Pinder."

"Are you Mr. Tinker's niece? Then really, Miss Tinker, I think if your uncle wants to open up any negotiations towards a settlement he'd better send his lawyer."

"What! Nehemiah Wimpenny! How could he? Didn't I tell you no one was to know anything of my visit but you and me, and Mr. Wimpenny's the very last man in the world I'd chose for any errand of mine."

"But in what can I help you, Miss Tinker? You will understand, of course, that I cannot discuss my client's affairs with anyone without his knowledge and privilege,--no, not though an angel drop from the clouds."

"I suppose that's a _rechauffé_ from one of your pretty sayings to Lizzie Hudson. Oh! Yes! I know all about it Mr. Sykes. Lizzie and I were at school together, and I thought it just odious of her not to ask me to her wedding."

"And only a minute ago she asked me if there were a Mrs. Sykes," reflected the harassed young man. "Will she ever get to her story?"

"And that's what gave me confidence to come to you, Mr. Sykes. Not the not being asked to the wedding, but because you were Lizzie's husband, and I did think of calling on her and bringing her with me, but she'd have guessed,"--and here Dorothy stopped abruptly.

"Yes, she'd have guessed?" said Mr. Sykes, encouragingly.

"Never you mind what Lizzie would have guessed. It's about this lawsuit I've come. I suppose I'd better come to the point."

"Wish to heaven you would," thought the lawyer.

"Now which do you think will win, uncle or Mr. Pinder?"

"If law and justice were one, Miss Tinker, there could only be one answer--Mr. Pinder."

"But they aren't,--so that means Tom, that's Mr. Pinder, will lose."

"You really must excuse me, Miss Tinker, I've said, even now, more than I'd any right to say."

"But don't you see, I want to help Mr. Pinder to win. That's what I came for. Didn't I tell you? Dear me, I wish I'd gone to Lizzie first. _She_ isn't slow, at any rate."

Mr. Sykes smiled. "No, my wife is not slow-witted, and I'm afraid I am. Perhaps that's why she took pity on me."

"Shouldn't wonder. Now the question is, how can we help Mr. Pinder, I mean Lucy, of course."

Mr. Sykes felt his brain beginning to give way in the vain striving after his visitor's drift. "Lucy," he murmured hopelessly.

"Yes, Lucy. She's my dearest friend. And she's to marry Tom,--Mr. Pinder I mean. That is to say she would if he would; but she says he wont, and perhaps she's right. Anyway, she wanted him to win this case, and I want him to win this case, and what's more, I mean him to win this case,--for Lucy's sake, of course, because she says it's all spite, and neither law nor justice, and you say so too, don't you?"

"Yes, I do."

"Now Lucy says it's all a matter o' money, I don't mean matrimony; for goodness sake _don't_ repeat that stupid jest. But I've had a long talk with Lucy, and she says it will cost Tom and Ben, that's Lucy's father, you know, heaps and heaps of money to fight the case to the end, and that's just what they haven't got. You're the blood-sucker, I suppose?"

"Yes, Miss Tinker, I'm afraid I'm one of them--for Lizzie's sake, of course."

Dorothy looked sharply at Mr. Sykes, and there was a slight flush of colour on her cheek as she repeated "Oh, yes, for Lizzie's sake, of course." Was it possible that this very sedate young man could guess beyond his brief?

"Now _I've_ got some money; at least I suppose so; though I've never seen it. But I've always understood my poor father that I don't remember, made a will, and I was the only child. Now you must get to know all about that, and Mr. Pinder and Ben are not to go to the wall for want of money. Do you understand that?"

"But am I really to understand, Miss Tinker, that you propose to spend your money in helping my clients in fighting your own uncle?"

"I don't care if he's twenty times my uncle, though once time once is enough, thank you. But if he's mean enough to try to ruin Ben Garside--"

"And Mr. Pinder?" put in the lawyer, quite casually.

"And I thought this lawyer stupid," thought Dorothy, but ignored the interruption.

"Then I'm mean enough to fight him with his own weapons, uncle or no uncle."

"It sounds parlously like champerty and maintenance," said Mr. Sykes, more to himself than to Dorothy.

"There's no sham about it, sir. I mean every word of it. I'll let my uncle see he can't treat me as he does poor aunt, like dirt under his feet."

"God grant I'm spared the aunt," groaned Edwin Sykes inwardly "what with her Lucy and her own quite bewildering self there are quite women enough in the case, without introducing an aunt."

"If I follow you, Miss Tinker, you are desirous, for your friend Lucy's sake, to help my client with money to carry on this unfortunate litigation. Have you any idea what the costs may amount to?"

"Not the slightest. But that doesn't matter. The money shall be found."

"I've another question to ask, Miss Tinker, and a very delicate one. May I ask how old you are?"

"And this is the man that can't say Boh! to a goose," again thought Dorothy.

"I suppose if I'd assurance enough for a lawyer I should tell you I'm as old as my tongue and a little older than my teeth," replied Dorothy merrily.

"That's exactly what I'm driving at," was the reply very seriously uttered. "I'm not at all sure that I should be justified in taking your money without my client's knowledge and consent even if you were of full age, but from a minor!"

"Pshaw, I sha'n't be a minor all my life. I shall be twenty one next birthday, and that's on May 21st."

"There's many things may happen between now and your birthday.''

"Exactly, your client may be ruined and Lucy may be broken-hearted, and all because of a silly punctilio."

"Have you a copy of your father's will."

"Ah! Now you're talking. I haven't; but I suppose one can be procured. I should like to see one any way, for even a woman may be allowed a little curiosity as to her own fortune. After all, I may be as poor as a church mouse. But you can find out that for me and have no qualms, I hope."

"Oh, yes, I shall be pleased to get you a copy of the will. I apprehend that you come to your inheritance in the general way."

"And that is?"

"If and when you attain the age of twenty-one years, or marry under that age. By the way, that suggests one simple solution of the difficulty, you might marry."

"Oh! That's out of the question."

"Not for, ahem!"--the young lawyer raised his long white hand to his mouth and coughed very slightly "not for Lucy's sake?"

Dorothy rose with some dignity to close the interview. "Let me know please when have got the copy of the will. Meanwhile, I suppose I can rely on your discretion," and Dorothy made to go.

"Nay, Miss Tinker, you have not permitted me to say my say. I am well aware that Mr. Pinder is a poor man. I am also a poor man. I had not intended to trouble my client in the event of defeat for more than the actual costs out of pocket. Those I couldn't afford to advance. If you give me your simple word that these shall be paid sooner or later by someone, no matter who," and here there was the barest suspicion of a twinkle in the young man's eyes as he added, "or for whose sake, rest assured I shall not allow Mr. Pinder's cause to fail for want of professional assistance. More I cannot promise."

Dorothy extended her hand. "And you have my word that if I live you shall not suffer. I do so want Tom, I mean Mr. Pinder, to win if he's in the right. I'll do almost anything rather than he should be borne down simply by his poverty. I say _almost_ anything. I draw the line at marrying, you know; besides," and a look of sudden remembrance sprung to Dorothy's eyes.

"Yes, besides?"

"Oh, it's something you wouldn't understand, about a horrid girl with green gloves," and Dorothy tripped away with a smile and a nod.

"This case fairly bristles with women," mused Edwin Sykes. Quintilian was right: _Nulla causa sine femina_.

And the months went by and the trial of the great cause of "Pinder at the suit of Tinker" seemed as far off as ever. First blood had been drawn by the defendant: the motion for an _interim_ injunction and an account of profits had been refused by the Court, and the judge had made certain observation as to the precipitancy with which the action had been commenced that made that respectable practitioner, Mr. Nehemiah Wimpenny, who was present at the hearing of the motion, long that the floor of the Court would gape and swallow him to the bowels of the earth,--anywhere out of hearing of that calm, gentle voice dropping vitriol in honeyed accents. In proportion as Tom and Ben and the friends of Co-op Mill rejoiced, so did Mr. Tinker rage and storm. From the very filing of the Bill he had regretted that in his anger he had instituted proceedings that none knew better than himself were purely vexatious and vindictive. The monitor of the night watches had left him little peace. In vain he had tried to silence the still small voice by arguing to himself that to stop Co-op Mill would be to stop the irreligious services which more and more abundantly attracted men from the orthodox ministrations of Mr. Jones and the other chapels of the district. Mr. Tinker was no Jesuit. Again and again he more than half-resolved to bid Mr. Wimpenny stay his hand he would have been glad to be quit of the lawsuit, even if he had to pay the defendant's costs as well as his own. But now that he was smarting under a rebuff, and his enemy was exulting in a momentary triumph,--give way now! No! That was not the stuff Jabez Tinker was made of. To be bested by a boy, a nobody that owed all he was and all he had to him, a serpent whom he had warmed in his breast,--it could not, it should not be.

And Nehemiah Wimpenny artfully fanned the flames of Mr. Tinker's wrath. He pooh-poohed the temporary check.

"It wasn't an engagement, my dear sir; an interlocutory motion is a mere skirmish, a sort of reconnoitering expedition, a simple device to draw the enemy's fire. Now we know where they are. They have had to show their hand, sir. We know where their weak spots are."

"That's all very fine," grumbled Tinker, gloomily. "We may have found _their_ weak spot; but it seems to me they've found one or two of ours--and one sore one, too, judging by the way you squirmed when my Lord rubbed it into you."

"Oh! That's nothing," laughed Wimpenny. "I took his salt _cum grano_, and I don't doubt you'll attach the same importance to this little _contretemps_. The trial's the thing.''

"You must win this case, Wimpenny, if money can win it.''

"Money can do anything in this world," said Wimpenny, "at least that's my professional experience."

Mr. Tinker left the lawyer's office in anything but a tranquil frame of mind. He felt like a conspirator in a sordid crime. The very paltriness of the issues and the insignificance of his opponent galled and fretted him. But how retreat now that all the world was saying that Tom Pinder was more than a match for Jabez Tinker?