didn’t know, but it was there before her as if it had been scored with the chalk on the chimney-board—“as Bulstrode should say, his inside was that black as if the hairs of his head knowed the thoughts of his heart, he’d tear ’em up by the roots.”
“That’s odd,” said Mr Limp, a meditative shoemaker, with weak eyes and a piping voice. “Why, I read in the ‘Trumpet’ that was what the Duke of Wellington said when he turned his coat and went over to the Romans.”
“Very like,” said Mrs Dollop. “If one raskill said it, it’s more reason why another should. But hypocrite as he’s been, and holding things with that high hand, as there was no parson i’ the country good enough for him, he was forced to take Old Harry into his counsel, and Old Harry’s been too many for him.”
“Ay, ay, he’s a ’complice you can’t send out o’ the country,” said Mr Crabbe the glazier, who gathered much news and groped among it dimly. “But by what I can make out, there's them says Bulstrode was for running away, for fear o’ being found out, before now.”
“He'll be drove away, whether or no,” said Mr Dill, the barber, who had just dropped in. “I shaved Fletcher, Hawley’s clerk, this morning—he’s got a bad finger—and he says they’re all of one mind to get rid o’ Bulstrode. Mr Thesiger is turned against him, and wants him out o’ the parish. And there's gentlemen in this town says they’d as soon dine with a fellow from the hulks. ‘And a deal sooner I would,’ says Fletcher; ‘for what’s more against one’s stomach than a man coming and making himself bad company with his religion, and giving out as the Ten Commandments are not enough for him, and all the while he’s worse than half the men at the tread-mill?’ Fletcher said so himself.”
“It’ll be a bad thing for the town though, if Bulstrode’s money goes out of it,” said Mr Limp, quaveringly.
“Ah, there’s better folks spend their money worse,” said a firm-voiced dyer, whose crimson hands looked out of keeping with his good-natured face.
“But he won’t keep his money, by what I can make out,” said the glazier. “Don’t they say as there’s somebody can strip it off him? By what I can understan’, they could take every penny off him, if they went to lawing.”
“No such thing!” said the barber, who felt himself a little above his company at Dollop’s, but liked it none the worse. “Fletcher says it’s no such thing. He says they might prove over and over again whose child this young Ladislaw was, and they’d do no more than if they proved I came out of the Fens—he couldn’t touch a penny.”
“Look you there now!” said Mrs Dollop, indignantly. “I thank the Lord he took my children to Himself, if that’s all the law can do for the motherless. Then by that, it’s o’ no use who your father and mother is. But as to listening to what one lawyer says without asking another—I wonder at a man o’ your cleverness, Mr Dill. It’s well known there’s always two sides, if no more; else who'd go to
