terly impossible.

_O'Ded._ Then, sir Rowland, take the word of _Cornelius O'Dedimus_,
attorney at law, his lordship will rigidly exact the money, to the
uttermost farthing.

_Sir Row._ You are fond, sir, of throwing out these hints to his
disadvantage.

_O'Ded._ I am bold to speak it--I am possessed of a secret, sir Rowland,
in regard to his lordship.

_Sir Row._ (_alarmed._) What is it you mean?

_O'Ded._ I thought I told you it was a _secret_.

_Sir Row._ But to me you should have no secrets that regard my family.

_O'Ded._ With submission, sir Rowland, his lordship is my client, as
well as yourself, and I have learned from the practice of the courts,
that an attorney who blabs in his business has soon no suit to his back.

_Sir Row._ But this affair, perhaps, involves my deepest interest--my
character--my all is at stake.

_O'Ded._ Have done wid your pumping now--d'ye think I am a basket full
of cinders, that I'm to be sifted after this fashion?

_Sir Row._ Answer but this--does it relate to Charles, my son?

_O'Ded._ Sartinly, the young gentleman has a small bit of interest in
the question.

_Sir Row._ One thing more. Does it allude to a transaction which
happened some years ago--am I a principal concerned in it?

_O'Ded._ Devil a ha'porth--it happened only six months past.

_Sir R._ Enough--I breathe again.

_O'Ded._ I'm glad of that, for may-be you'll now let me breathe to tell
you that as I know lord Austencourt's private character better than you
do, my life to a bundle of parchment, he'll even arrest ye for the
money.

_Sir R._ Impossible, he cannot be such a villain!

_Abel Grouse._ (_without_) What ho! is the lawyer within?

_Sir Row._ Who interrupts us?

_O'Ded._ 'Tis the strange man that lives on the common--his name is Abel
Grouse--he's coming up.

_Sir R._ I'll wait till you dismiss him, for I cannot encounter any one
at present. Misfortunes crowd upon me; and one act of guilt has drawn
the vengeance of Heaven on my head, and will pursue me to the grave.
[_Exit to an inner room._

_O'Ded._ Och! if a small gale of adversity blows up such a storm as
this, we shall have a pretty hurricane by and by, when you larn a little
more of your hopeful nephew, and see his new matrimonial scheme fall to
the ground, like buttermilk through a sieve.

_Enter_ Abel Grouse.

_Abel Grouse._ Now, sir, you are jackall, as I take it, to lord
Austencourt.

_O'Ded._ I am his man of business, s