He was moving away, still talking; the constable hesitated,
fidgeted, spat out an oath or two, then cried out—
“Hold, hold, good sir—prithee wait
a little—the judge! Why, man, he
hath no more sympathy with a jest than hath a dead
corpse!—come, and we will speak further.
Ods body! I seem to be in evil case—and
all for an innocent and thoughtless pleasantry.
I am a man of family; and my wife and little ones—List
to reason, good your worship: what wouldst thou
of me?”
“Only that thou be blind and dumb and paralytic
whilst one may count a hundred thousand—counting
slowly,” said Hendon, with the expression of
a man who asks but a reasonable favour, and that a
very little one.
“It is my destruction!” said the constable
despairingly. “Ah, be reasonable, good
sir; only look at this matter, on all its sides, and
see how mere a jest it is—how manifestly
and how plainly it is so. And even if one granted
it were not a jest, it is a fault so small that e’en
the grimmest penalty it could call forth would be
but a rebuke and warning from the judge’s lips.”
Hendon replied with a solemnity which chilled the
air about him—
“This jest of thine hath a name, in law,—wot
you what it is?”
“I knew it not! Peradventure I have been
unwise. I never dreamed it had a name—ah,
sweet heaven, I thought it was original.”
“Yes, it hath a name. In the law this
crime is called Non compos mentis lex talionis sic
transit gloria mundi.”
“Ah, my God!”
“And the penalty is death!”
“God be merciful to me a sinner!”
“By advantage taken of one in fault, in dire
peril, and at thy mercy, thou hast seized goods worth
above thirteenpence ha’penny, paying but a trifle
for the same; and this, in the eye of the law, is constructive
barratry, misprision of treason, malfeasance in office,
ad hominem expurgatis in statu quo—and
the penalty is death by the halter, without ransom,
commutation, or benefit of clergy.”
“Bear me up, bear me up, sweet sir, my legs
do fail me! Be thou merciful—spare
me this doom, and I will turn my back and see nought
that shall happen.”
“Good! now thou’rt wise and reasonable.
And thou’lt restore the pig?”
“I will, I will indeed—nor ever touch
another, though heaven send it and an archangel fetch
it. Go—I am blind for thy sake—I
see nothing. I will say thou didst break in
and wrest the prisoner from my hands by force.
It is but a crazy, ancient door—I will
batter it down myself betwixt midnight and the morning.”
“Do it, good soul, no harm will come of it;
the judge hath a loving charity for this poor lad,
and will shed no tears and break no jailer’s
bones for his escape.”
As soon as Hendon and the King were out of sight of
the constable, his Majesty was instructed to hurry
to a certain place outside the town, and wait there,
whilst Hendon should go to the inn and settle his account.
Half an hour later the two friends were blithely jogging
eastward on Hendon’s sorry steeds. The
King was warm and comfortable, now, for he had cast
his rags and clothed himself in the second-hand suit
which Hendon had bought on London Bridge.
