"Well, somehow he'st th' name o' bein' thicker wi' Owd Harry; an' that goes a long way i' law." And so it was settled that the defence of George should be entrusted to Mr. Blackburn, of the New Street. I went with my father the very next day to see Mr. Blackburn. I did not like being seen about, but there seemed nothing for it but to brazen it out and take my luck. I had never been to a lawyer's office before, and felt as if I were going to have a tooth pulled; but my father opened the door of the outer office as bold as brass. There was a little old wizened man with a face like yellow crinkled sheepskin, and a suit that had once been black, maybe, but now was rusty brown and white at the seams. "Is he in?" said my father. "Sit down, Mr. Bamforth, sit down. Come to the fire. Your son, sir? Pleased to know you, sir. A chip of the old block, Mr. Bamforth, a chip of the old block." And my father actually looked pleased, tho' if I were a chip of the old block there was a deal more chip than block. Mr. Blackburn was in, and presently we were ushered into an inner room. It would have turned my mother sick to see the dust that lay about, and the frosted windows that gave on to the New Street looked as if they hadn't been washed for a century. Mr. Blackburn shook us both by the hand in a jerky way, and offered my father a pinch of snuff from a big silver box. My father took a pinch with the result that he never ceased sneezing till we were out into the street and he had hurried to the Boot and Shoe and drunk a pint of ale to wash the tickling out of his throat. "And now, Mr. Bamforth, what can I do for you?" asked Mr. Blackburn, pushing his spectacles on to his brow and laying a large brown silk handkerchief, snuff coloured, over his knee. "It's about George Mellor, yo know," said my father. Mr. Blackburn did not look as if he did know. "Him 'at's ta'en for Horsfall's job, yo' know," explained my father. "Well, what of him?" "He's my nevvy, yo' know." "Yo'r nevvy? Phew! this is an ugly business, an ugly business." "Awm feart so." "Well?" "Aw want yo' to defend him at th' 'sizes." "Why my good man, what defence is possible? Allison tells me the case is as clear as crystal. Not a loop hole in it." My father's face fell. Then he pulled out the bag of notes. "There's a hundred pound here, Mr. Blackburn. George shalln't stand up i' Court wi'out one soul to take his side. Guilty or not guilty, whatever th' law can do for him shall be done. It'll happen soothe him at the last, if th' worst comes to th' worst, to know at some hearts felt for him, an' that what brass could do to get him off, wer' done." "It's a noble sentiment, Mr. Bamforth, and does you credit I'm sure. Well, well, no man's guilty in this country, thank God, till he's proved guilty. But I can't make bricks without straw, you know. What's the defence?" "Nay, that's for you to find out," said my father, more cheerfully. "That's' what th' hundred pound is for."