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the ground； looks at the painted ceiling； and says never a word。
The irascible Mr Smallweed scratches the air。
“The question is；” says Mr Tulkinghorn in his methodical；
subdued； uninteresting way； “first； whether you have any of
Captain Hawdon’s writing？”
“First； whether I have any of Captain Hawdon’s writing； sir；”
repeats Mr George。
“Secondly； what will satisfy you for the trouble of producing it。”
“Secondly； what will satisfy me for the trouble of producing it；
sir；” repeats Mr George。
“Thirdly； you can judge for yourself whether it is at all like
that；” says Mr Tulkinghorn； suddenly handing him some sheets of
written paper tied together。
“Whether it is at all like that； sir。 Just so；” repeats Mr George。
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All three repetitions Mr George pronounces in a mechanical
manner； looking straight at Mr Tulkinghorn； nor does he so much
as glance at the affidavit in Jarndyce and Jarndyce； that has been
given to him for his inspection （though he still holds it in his
hand）； but continues to look at the lawyer with an air of troubled
meditation。
“Well？” says Mr Tulkinghorn。 “What do you say？”
“Well； sir；” replies Mr George； rising erect and looking
immense； “I would rather； if you’ll excuse me； have nothing to do
with this。”
Mr Tulkinghorn； outwardly quite undisturbed； demands “Why
not？”
“Why； sir；” returns the trooper。 “Except on military
compulsion； I am not a man of business。 Among civilians I am
what they call in Scotland a ne’er…do…weel。 I have no head for
papers； sir。 I can stand any fire better than a fire of cross
questions。 I mentioned to Mr Smallweed； only an hour or so ago；
that when I come into things of this kind I feel as if I was being
smothered。 And this is my sensation；” says Mr George； looking
around upon the company； “at the present moment。”
With that； he takes three strides forward； to replace the papers
on the lawyer’s table； and three strides backward to resume his
former station： where he stands perfectly upright； now looking at
the ground； and now at the painted ceiling； with his hands behind
him as if to prevent himself from accepting any other document
whatever。
Under this provocation； Mr Smallweed’s favourite adjective of
disparagement is so close to his tongue； that he begins the word
“my dear friend” with the monosyllable “Brim；” thus converting
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the possessive pronoun into Brimmy； and appearing to have an
impediment in his speech。 Once past this difficulty； however； he
exhorts his dear friend in the tenderest manner not to be rash； but
to do what so eminent a gentleman requires； and to do it with a
good grace： confident that it must be unobjectionable as well as
profitable。 Mr Tulkinghorn merely utters an occasional sentence；
as “You are the best judge of your own interest； serjeant。”
“Take care you do no harm by this。”
“Please yourself； please yourself。”
“If you know what you mean； that’s quite enough。” These he
utters with an appearance of perfect indifference； as he looks over
the papers on his table； and prepares to write a letter。
Mr George looks distrustfully from the painted ceiling to the
ground； from the ground to Mr Smallweed； from Mr Smallweed to
Mr Tulkinghorn； and from Mr Tulkinghorn to the painted ceiling
again； often in his perplexity changing the leg on which he rests。
“I do assure you； sir；” says Mr George； “not to say it offensively；
that between you and Mr Smallweed here； I really am being
smothered fifty times over。 I really am； sir。 I am not a match for
you gentlemen。 Will you allow me to ask； why you want to see the
captain’s hand； in the case that I could find any specimen of it？”
Mr Tulkinghorn quietly shakes his head。 “No。 If you were a
man of business； serjeant； you would not need to be informed that
there are confidential reasons； very harmless in themselves； for
many such wants； in the profession to which I belong。 But if you
are afraid of doing any injury to Captain Hawdon； you may set
your mind at rest about that。”
“Ay！ he is dead； sir。”
“Is he？” Mr Tulkinghorn quietly sits down to write。
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“Well； sir；” says the trooper； looking into his hat after another
disconcerted pause； “I am sorry not to have given you more
satisfaction。 If it would be any satisfaction to any one； that I should
be confirmed in my judgment that I would rather have nothing to
do with this； by a friend of mine； who has a better head for
business than I have； and who is an old soldier； I am willing to
consult with him。 I—I really am so completely smothered myself at
present；” says Mr George； passing his hand hopelessly across his
brow； “that I don’t know but what it might be a satisfaction to me。”
Mr Smallweed； hearing that this authority is an old soldier； so
strongly inculcates the expediency of the trooper’s taking counsel
with him； and particularly informing him of its being a question of
five guineas or more； that Mr George engages to go and see him。
Mr Tulkinghorn says nothing either way。
“I’ll consult my friend； then； by your leave； sir；” says the
trooper； “and I’ll take the liberty of looking in again with a final
answer in the course of the day。 Mr Smallweed； if you wish to be
carried downstairs—”
“In a moment； my dear friend； in a moment。 Will you first let
me speak half a word with this gentleman； in private？”
“Certainly； sir。 Don’t hurry yourself on my account。” The
trooper retires to a distant part of the room； and resumes his
curious inspection of the boxes； strong and otherwise。
“If I wasn’t as weak as a Brimstone Baby； sir；” whispers
Grandfather Smallweed； drawing the lawyer down to his level by
the lappel of his coat； and flashing some half…quenched green fire
out of his angry eyes； “I’d tear the writing away from him。 He’s got
it buttoned in his breast。 I saw him put it there。 Judy saw him put
it there。 Speak up； you crabbed image for the sign of a walking…
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stick shop； and say you saw him put it there！”
This vehement conjuration the old gentleman accompanies
with such a thrust at his grand…daughter； that it is too much for his
strength； and he slips