So ended the Bantam.

No sooner had he ceased, than Farmer Blaize jumped up from his chair, and made a fine effort to lift him out of the room from the point of his toe.  He failed, and sank back groaning with the pain of the exertion and disappointment.

“They’re liars, every one!” he cried.  “Liars, perj’rers, bribers, and c’rrupters!—­Stop!” to the Bantam, who was slinking away.  “You’ve done for yerself already!  You swore to it!”

“A din’t!” said the Bantam, doggedly.

“You swore to’t!” the farmer vociferated afresh.

The Bantam played a tune upon the handle of the door, and still affirmed that he did not; a double contradiction at which the farmer absolutely raged in his chair, and was hoarse, as he called out a third time that the Bantam had sworn to it.

“Noa!” said the Bantam, ducking his poll.  “Noa!” he repeated in a lower note; and then, while a sombre grin betokening idiotic enjoyment of his profound casuistical quibble worked at his jaw: 

“Not up’n o-ath!” he added, with a twitch of the shoulder and an angular jerk of the elbow.

Farmer Blaize looked vacantly at Richard, as if to ask him what he thought of England’s peasantry after the sample they had there.  Richard would have preferred not to laugh, but his dignity gave way to his sense of the ludicrous, and he let fly a shout.  The farmer was in no laughing mood.  He turned a wide eye back to the door, “Lucky for’m,” he exclaimed, seeing the Bantam had vanished, for his fingers itched to break that stubborn head.  He grew very puffy, and addressed Richard solemnly: 

“Now, look ye here, Mr. Feverel!  You’ve been a-tampering with my witness.  It’s no use denyin’!  I say y’ ’ave, sir!  You, or some of ye.  I don’t care about no Feverel!  My witness there has been bribed.  The Bantam’s been bribed,” and he shivered his pipe with an energetic thump on the table—­“bribed!  I knows it!  I could swear to’t!”—­

“Upon oath?” Richard inquired, with a grave face.

“Ay, upon oath!” said the farmer, not observing the impertinence.

“I’d take my Bible oath on’t!  He’s been corrupted, my principal witness!  Oh! it’s dam cunnin’, but it won’t do the trick.  I’ll transport Tom Bakewell, sure as a gun.  He shall travel, that man shall.  Sorry for you, Mr. Feverel—­sorry you haven’t seen how to treat me proper—­you, or yours.  Money won’t do everything—­no! it won’t.  It’ll c’rrupt a witness, but it won’t clear a felon.  I’d ha’ ’soused you, sir!  You’re a boy and’ll learn better.  I asked no more than payment and apology; and that I’d ha’ taken content—­always provided my witnesses weren’t tampered with.  Now you must stand yer luck, all o’ ye.”

Richard stood up and replied, “Very well, Mr. Blaize.”

“And if,” continued the farmer, “Tom Bakewell don’t drag you into’t after ’m, why, you’re safe, as I hope ye’ll be, sincere!”

“It was not in consideration of my own safety that I sought this interview with you,” said Richard, head erect.