Saying this, he drew forth from his deep, blue bag, a red book having clasps to it, and endorsed in gold letters “Fee-book”; and before I could speak (being frightened so) he had entered on a page of it, “To consideration of case as stated by John Ridd, and advising thereupon, two guineas.” “But sir, good sir,” I stammered forth, not having two guineas left in the world, yet grieving to confess it, “I knew not that I was to pay, learned sir. I never thought of it in that way.” “Wounds of God! In what way thought you that a lawyer listened to your rigmarole?” “I thought that you listened from kindness, sir, and compassion of my grievous case, and a sort of liking for me.” “A lawyer like thee, young curmudgeon! A lawyer afford to feel compassion gratis! Either thou art a very deep knave, or the greenest of all greenhorns. Well, I suppose, I must let thee off for one guinea, and the clerk's fee. A bad business, a shocking business!” Now, if this man had continued kind and soft, as when he heard my story, I would have pawned my clothes to pay him, rather than leave a debt behind, although contracted unwittingly. But when he used harsh language so, knowing that I did not deserve it, I began to doubt within myself whether he deserved my money. Therefore I answered him with some readiness, such as comes sometimes to me, although I am so slow. “Sir, I am no curmudgeon: if a young man had called me so, it would not have been well with him. This money shall be paid, if due, albeit I had no desire to incur the debt. You have advised me that the Court is liable for my expenses, so far as they be reasonable. If this be a reasonable expense, come with me now to Lord Justice Jeffreys, and receive from him the two guineas, or (it may be) five, for the counsel you have given me to deny his jurisdiction.” With these words, I took his arm to lead him, for the door was open still. “In the name of God, boy, let me go. Worthy sir, pray let me go. My wife is sick, and my daughter dying--in the name of God, sir, let me go.” “Nay, nay,” I said, having fast hold of him, “I cannot let thee go unpaid, sir. Right is right; and thou shalt have it.” “Ruin is what I shall have, boy, if you drag me before that devil. He will strike me from the bar at once, and starve me, and all my family. Here, lad, good lad, take these two guineas. Thou hast despoiled the spoiler. Never again will I trust mine eyes for knowledge of a greenhorn.” He slipped two guineas into the hand which I had hooked through his elbow, and spoke in an urgent whisper again, for the people came crowding around us--“For God's sake let me go, boy; another moment will be too late.” “Learned sir,” I answered him, “twice you spoke, unless I err, of the necessity of a clerk's fee, as a thing to be lamented.”