to the Co't o' Charncery and arsk for a
'junction against you to stop you goin' over his fields. You don't want
to go over his fields any more, that don't matter. He'll get his
'junction and you'll have to pay the bloomin' costs--see--the bloomin'
costs, and what will that amahnt to? Gawd knows, maybe a hundred pound.
Lots of folks take it into their silly heads they can go where they
want. They carnt, not if the Landlord knows his Lor, not unless they're
hoofin' it like me. Lot o' use bringin' _me_ up to the Co't o'
Charncery."

"Do you mean to say that just for walking over a field a man can be had
up to the court of Chancery and fined a hundred pounds?"

"He ain't fined, it's took off him in costs."

"You seem to know a lot about the law," said Jones, calling up the man
of the public house last night, and coming to the conclusion that
amongst the English lower orders there must be a vast fund of a peculiar
sort of intelligence.

"Yes," said the tramp. "I told you I did." Then interestedly, "What
might your name be?"

Jones repeated the magic formula to see the effect.

"I am the Earl of Rochester."

"Lord Rochester. Thought I knew your face. Lost half a quid over your
horse runnin' at Gatwood Park last Spring twel' months. 'White Lady'
came in second to 'The Nun,' half a quid. I'd made a bit on 'Champane
Bottle' in the sellin' plate. Run me eye over the lists and picked out
'White Lady.' Didn't know nothin' abaht her, said to a fren', 'here's my
fancy. Don't know nothin' abaht her, but she's one of Lord Rawchester's,
an' his horses run stright'--That's what I said--'His horses run
stright' and give me a stright run boss with a wooden leg before any of
your fliers with a dope in his belly or a pullin' jockey on his back.
But the grown' did her, she was beat on the post by haff an 'eck, you'll
remember. She'd a won be two lengths, on'y for that bit o' soggy grown'
be the post. That grown' want over-haulin', haff a shower o' rain, and
boss wants fins and flippers instead o' hoofs."

"Yes," said Jones, "that's so."

"A few barra' loads o' gravel would put it rite," continued the other,
"it ain't fair on the hosses, and it ain't fair on the backers, 'arf a
quid I dropped on that mucky bit o' grown'. Last Doncaster meetin' I
was sayin' the very same thing to Lor' Lonsdale over the Doncaster
Course. I met him, man to man like, outside the ring, and he handed me
out a cigar. We talked same as you and me might be t