'I may possibly have been so from your point of view, Mr Toogood; but permit me to explain. I--'
'It's no good explaining now. Of course you must employ a lawyer for your defence--an attorney who will put the case into the hands of counsel.'
'But that I cannot do, Mr Toogood.'
'You must do it. If you don't do it, your friends should do it for you.
If you don't do it, everybody will say you're mad. There isn't a single solicitor you could find within a half a mile of you at this moment who wouldn't give you the same advice --not a single man, either, who had got a head on his shoulders worth a trump.'
When Mr Crawley was told that madness would be laid at his charge if he did not do as he was bid, his face became very black, and assumed something of that look of determined obstinacy which it had worn when he was standing in the presence of the bishop and Mrs Proudie. 'It may be so,' he said. 'It may be as you say, Mr Toogood. But these neighbours of yours, as to whose collected wisdom you speak with so much certainty, would hardly recommend me to indulge in a luxury for which I have no means of paying.'
'Who thinks about paying under such circumstances as these?'
'I do, Mr Toogood.'
'The wretched costermonger that comes to grief has a barrister in a wig and gown to give him his chance of escape.'
'But I am not a costermonger, Mr Toogood--though more wretched perhaps than any costermonger now in existence. It is my lot to have to endure the sufferings of poverty, and at the same time not be exempt from those feelings of honour to which poverty is seldom subject. I cannot afford to call in legal assistance for which I cannot pay--and I will not do it.'
'I'll carry the case through for you. It certainly is not just my line of business--but I'll see it carried through for you.'
'Out of your own pocket?'
'Never mind; when I say I'll do a thing, I'll do it.'
'No, Mr Toogood; this thing you can not do. But do not suppose I am the less grateful.'
'What is it that I can do then? Why do you come to me if you won't take my advice?'
After this the conversation went on for a considerable time without touching on any point which need be brought palpably before the reader's eye. The attorney continued to beg the clergyman to have his case managed in the usual way, and went so far as to tell him that he would be ill-treating his wife and family if he continued to be obstinate. But the clergyman was not shaken from his resolve, and was at last able to ask Mr Toogood what he had better do--how he had better attempt to defend himself--on the understanding that no legal aid was to be employed. When this question was at last asked in such a way as to demand an answer, Mr Toogood sat for a moment or two in silence. He felt that an answer was not only demanded, but almost enforced; and yet there might be much difficulty in giving it.
'Mr Toogood,' said Mr Crawley, seeing the attorney's hesitation, 'Ideclare to you before God, that my only object will be to enable the jury to know about this sad matter all that I know myself. If I could open my breast to them I should be satisfied. But then a prisoner can say nothing; and what he does so is ever accounted false.'
'That is why you should have legal assistance.'
'We had already come to a conclusion on that matter, as I thought,' said Mr Crawley.
Mr Toogood paused for a another moment or two, and then dashed at his answer; or rather, dashed at a counter question. 'Mr Crawley, where did you get the cheque? You must pardon me, you know; or, if you wish it, Iwill not press the question. But so much hangs on that, you know.'
'Everything would hang on it--if I only knew.'
'You mean that you forget?'
'Absolutely; totally. I wish, Mr Toogood, I could explain to you the toilsome perseverance with which I have cudgelled my poor brains, endeavouring to extract from them some scintilla of memory that would aid me.'
'Could you have picked it up at the house?'
'No;--no; that I did not do. Dull as I am, I know so much. It was mine of right, from whatever source it came to me. I know myself as no one else can know me, in spite of the wise man's motto. Had I picked up a cheque in my house, or on the road, I should not have slept till I had taken steps to restore it to the seeming owner. So much I can say. But, otherwise, I am in such matter so shandy-pated, that I can trust myself to be sure of nothing. I thought;--I certainly thought--'
'You thought what?'
'I thought that it had been given to me by my friend the dean. Iremember well that I was in his library at Barchester, and I was somewhat provoked in spirit. There were lying on the floor hundreds of volumes, all glittering with gold, and reeking with new leather from binders. He asked me to look at his toys. Why should I look at them?
There was a time, but the other day it seemed, when he had been glad to borrow from me such treasures as I had. And it seemed to me that he was heartless in showing me these things. Well; I need not trouble you with all that.'
'Go on;--go on. Let me hear it all, and I shall learn something.'
'I know now how vain, how vile I was. I always know afterwards how low the spirit has grovelled. I had gone to him then because I had resolved to humble myself, and, for my wife's sake, to ask my friend--for money.
With words which were very awkward--which no doubt were ungracious--Ihad asked him, and he had bid me follow him from his hall into his library. There he left me awhile, and on returning told me with a smile that he had sent for money--and, if I can remember, the sum he named was fifty pounds.'
'But it has turned out, as you say, that you have paid fifty pounds with his money--besides the cheque.'
'That is true;--that is quite true. There is no doubt of that. But as Iwas saying--then he fell to talking about the books, and I was angered.
