Mr. Tinker winced. "You seem to lose heart very easily, Mr. Wimpenny. Young men weren't so easily discouraged in my young days." "Much you know about it," thought the lawyer. "A spirited young woman like Dorothy Tinker's rather a different sort of an undertaking from old Split's scarecrow of a daughter." By mutual consent to the men reverted the less embarrassing question of water rights. "Just explain to me, Wimpenny, what must be done to vindicate my rights." "Well, you must file a Bill in the Court of Chancery, and you must file affidavits by the oldest inhabitants as to the customary service of the water, and by analysts as to pollution, and you must go for damages, and you'll have to get other manufacturers to assess the damages, and, oh!--yes, you might try for an _interim_ injunction." "And Pinder'll have to set another lawyer on?" "Of course he will." "And that'll cost _him_ money, win or lose?" "Rather." "Then go at him hammer and tongs, and the sooner you begin and the hotter you go at him, the better you'll please me." "But the evidence?" "You must find the evidence, sir. I don't care whether I win or lose. But Co-op Mill must stop. For want of water if we win: for want of funds if we lose." "Do you understand me?" "You bet I do, and I'll tell you this, I never went into a case with better heart. You may rest easy, Mr. Tinker. Co-op Mill's as good as broke." It was but a week or so after this interview that Workhouse Jack, loitering about the mill yard, espied a seedy looking fellow peering in at the mill-gates. It was a Saturday afternoon. The engine was stopped, the hands had trooped home, Tom and Ben had gone for a walk, and Jack was in sole charge. He was dressed in his Sunday best, and meditating a visit to the village, and, of course, Lucy. He knew the visitor at once for Wimpenny's process server. The process server did not know Jack. "Can I see Mr. Pinder?" the man asked. "Aye, if yo're none blind," answered Jack. "What's your will?" "Oh, beg your pardon, sir. Didn't know it was you. This is for you, sir, and he slipped a paper into Jacks hand." "It's a petition in Chancery filed by our client, Mr. Jabez Tinker, against you, sir." "A 'tition, is it," said Jack "an' what mun aw do wi' it nah aw've getten it?" "Better see your lawyer about it." "Oh! an' what 'ud ha' happened, now, just for argyment's sake, if yo'd dropped this ere precious dockyment i'stead o' 'liverin' it to me?" The clerk was not prepared to say. "I don't know indeed. Perhaps the action couldn't go on." "Oh! It couldn't, eh?" "I'm not sure. But any way, I _have_ served it: so it's no use going into that." "Aye, yo'n sarved it," assented Jack. "Just step this way, will yo', while aw run mi e'en ovver it," and so saying, Jack led the way into the boiler-house. Then Jack deliberately locked the door. "What does this mean?" asked the clerk.