Before Mr Inch stood no less a person than Master Mittachip, attorney-at-law. Master Mittachip desired to speak with Squire West, and the pompous beadle was in the proud position of standing between this presumptuous desire and the supreme Majesty of the Law. "Them’s my orders, sir," he said, with all the solemnity which this extraordinary event demanded. "Them’s my orders. Squire West’s own orders. ’Inch,’ he says to me—my name being Jeremiah Inch, sir—’Inch,’ he says, ’the odours which perambulate the court-room’—and mind ye, sir, he didn’t use such polite language either—’the odours is more than I can endurate this hot morning!’ As a matter of fact, sir, truth compellates me to state that Squire West’s own words were: ’Inch, this room stinks like hell! too many sweating yokels about!’ Then he gave me his orders: ’The room is too full as it is, don’t admit anyone else, on any pretext or cause whatsoever.’" Master Mittachip had made various misguided efforts to interrupt Mr Inch’s wonderful flow of eloquence. It was only when the worthy beadle paused to take breath, that the attorney got in a word edgewise. "Harkee, my good man..." he began impatiently. "I am extra-ordinarily grieved, sir," interrupted Master Inch, who had not nearly finished, "taking into consideration that I am somewhat dubersome, whether what his Honour said about the odours could apply individually to you, but orders is orders, sir, and the Squire as a legal luminosity must be obeyed in all things." Mr Inch heaved a deep sigh of satisfaction. It was not often that he had the opportunity of showing off his marvellous eloquence and wonderful flow of language before so distinguished a gentleman as Master Mittachip, attorney-at-law. But the latter seemed not to appreciate the elegance of the worthy beadle’s diction; on the contrary, he had throughout shown signs of the greatest impatience, and now, directly Mr Inch heaved this one sigh, Master Mittachip produced a silver half-crown, and toying with it, in apparent indifference, said significantly,— "I am sure, friend Beadle, that if you were to acquaint Squire West that his Honour, Sir Humphrey Challoner, desired to speak with him..." Mr Inch stroked his fat, clean-shaven chin, and eyed the silver half-crown with an anxious air. "Ah! perhaps!" he suggested with as much dignity as the new circumstance allowed, "perhaps if I did so far contravene my orders..." "I feel sure that Sir Humphrey would see fit to reward you," suggested the attorney, still idly fingering that tempting half-crown. But Master Inch was still "dubersome." "But then, you understand," he said, "it is against the regulations that I should vacuate my post until after the sitting is over ... so..." "Sir Humphrey Challoner is partaking of breakfast at the Royal George, Master Inch, he would wish Squire West to know that he’ll attend on him here in half an hour."