Then Mr Crawley began and told his story.  Mr Toogood was actually true to his promise and let the narrator go on with his narrative without interruption.  When Mr Crawley came to his own statement that the cheque had been paid to him by Mr Soames, and went on to say that that statement had been false—­’I told him that, but I told him so wrongly,’ and then paused, thinking that the lawyer would ask some question, Mr Toogood simply said, ’Go on; go on.  I’ll come back to all that when you’ve done.’  And he merely nodded his head when Mr Crawley spoke of his second statement, that the money had come from the dean.  ’We had been bound together by close ties of early familiarity,’ said Mr Crawley, ’and in former years our estates in life were the same.  But he has prospered and I have failed.  And when creditors were importunate, I consented to accept relief in money which had previously been often offered.  And I must acknowledge, Mr Toogood, while saying this, that I have known—­have known with heartfelt agony—­that at former times my wife has taken that from my friend Mr Arabin, with hand half-hidden from me, which I have refused.  Whether it be better to eat—­the bread of charity—­or not to eat bread at all, I, for myself, have no doubt,’ he said; ’but when the want strikes one’s wife and children, and the charity strikes only oneself, then there is a doubt.’  When he spoke thus, Mr Toogood got up, and thrusting his hands in his waistcoat pockets walked about the room, exclaiming, ’By George, by George, by George!’ But he still let the man go on with his story, and heard him out at last to the end.

‘And they committed you for trial at the next Barchester assizes?’ said the lawyer.

‘They did.’

‘And you employed no lawyer before the magistrates?’

‘None;—­I refused to employ anyone.’

’You were wrong there, Mr Crawley.  I must be allowed to say that you were wrong there.’

’I may possibly have been so from your point of view, Mr Toogood; but permit me to explain.  I—­’

’It’s no good explaining now.  Of course you must employ a lawyer for your defence—­an attorney who will put the case into the hands of counsel.’

‘But that I cannot do, Mr Toogood.’

’You must do it.  If you don’t do it, your friends should do it for you.  If you don’t do it, everybody will say you’re mad.  There isn’t a single solicitor you could find within a half a mile of you at this moment who wouldn’t give you the same advice—­not a single man, either, who had got a head on his shoulders worth a trump.’

When Mr Crawley was told that madness would be laid at his charge if he did not do as he was bid, his face became very black, and assumed something of that look of determined obstinacy which it had worn when he was standing in the presence of the bishop and Mrs Proudie.  ’It may be so,’ he said.  ’It may be as you say, Mr Toogood.  But these neighbours of yours, as to whose collected wisdom you speak with so much certainty, would hardly recommend me to indulge in a luxury for which I have no means of paying.’