"Is he a good man?" inquired Mr. Pickwick.
"Good man!" replied Perker; "bless your heart and soul, my dear sir, Serjeant Snubbin is at the very top of his profession. Gets treble the business of any man in court—engaged in every case. You needn't mention it abroad; but we say—we of the profession—that Serjeant Snubbin leads the court by the nose."
The little man took another pinch of snuff as he made this communication, and nodded mysteriously to Mr. Pickwick.
"They have subpœna'd my three friends," said Mr. Pickwick.
"Ah! of course they would," replied Perker. "Important witnesses; saw you in a delicate situation."
"But she fainted of her own accord," said Mr. Pickwick. "She threw herself into my arms."
"Very likely, my dear sir," replied Perker; "very likely and very natural. Nothing more so, my dear sir, nothing. But who's to prove it?"
"They have subpœna'd my servant too," said Mr. Pickwick, quitting the other point; for there Mr. Perker's question had somewhat staggered him.
"Sam?' said Perker.
Mr. Pickwick replied in the affirmative.
"Of course, my dear sir; of course. I knew they would. I could have told you that, a month ago. You know, my dear sir, if you will take the management of your affairs into your own hands after intrusting them to your solicitor, you must also take the consequences." Here Mr. Perker drew himself up with conscious dignity, and brushed some stray grains of snuff from his shirt frill.
"And what do they want him to prove?" asked Mr. Pickwick, after two or three minutes' silence.
"That you sent him up to the plaintiff's to make some offer of a compromise, I suppose," replied Perker. "It don't matter much, though; I don't think many counsel could get a great deal out of him."
"I don't think they could," said Mr. Pickwick; smiling,
