I knew summat would
happen when I saw Mr. Vetch come to your poor father a while
ago--you mind, I told you so. Lawyers are all no good, that's my
belief. Don't tell me Mr. Vetch didn't know what he was a-carrying.
He's in league with the wretches, I know he is, for all his mazed
look. Don't tell me he didn't know the paper was as white as the
underside of a fleece. Fleece is the very word for it: he's fleeced
us, sure enough, and I'll come on the parish, and you'll be a
beggar, and they unnatural wretches will wallow in their pride,
and--oh! I can't abear it, I can't abear it!"
And the poor creature burst into a passion of weeping, so that it
was some time before I could learn the cause of her distress. It
was amazing enough. When Mr. Vetch unfolded the document which he
believed to be my father's will, the paper inside was as clean as
when it came from the scrivener's. There was not a single mark upon
it.
Chapter 6: I Take Articles.
We were at breakfast next morning, Mistress Pennyquick and I, when
Captain Galsworthy, after a herald tap on the door, walked into the
room.
"What's this cock-and-bull story that's running over the town?" he
cried without circumstance.
Before I could reply, Mistress Pennyquick began to pour out her
tale of woe, roundly accusing Sir Richard Cludde and Lawyer Vetch
of conspiring to defraud me of my rights.
"I haven't slept a wink the whole night through, sir," says the
poor soul, "and I've wetted six--no, 'tis seven handkerchers till
they're like clouts from the washtub, and I can hardly see out o'
my eyes, and--"
"Stuff and nonsense and a fiddlestick end!" cries the captain
angrily, "dry your eyes, woman.
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