Part 21 (1/2)
”Suppose,” said I, ”a man dies, and leaves a widow, and that widow should claim--”
”Hold on, right there!” exclaimed Ike, laying down his pipe. ”Hold on, old _fel_low; this s'posin' don't do in this 'ere office. I never gives opinions on fancy cases. Time's little too precious. I want the raal facts on the matter, jest as they happened; and, besides, Mr. ----, fust thing I know I shall give an opinion right b.u.t.t agin one of my clients--(I have reg'lar clients, you see, that I've got ter stand up for, if it busts me),--and this wheelin' round and taking a back track spiles one's reputation, and tears his conscience, awful to behold!”
”Well,” I continued, ”as I was goin' to say--”
”No, sir-ee! you _ain't_ goin' to say. _Who_ died? _who's_ the widow? Them are the startin' pints in a new country.”
”But,” continued I, ”that will not affect the principle.”
”Won't it, though?” answered Ike. ”What are principles to folks in a new country? What are residents to non-residents? Why, you take a resident widow, a little good-lookin', and she can hold all the land she claims agin a non-resident. Juries have feelin's, and are human like other people.”
”O, I see!” said I.
”Jest so,” said he.
”Well, then,” I continued, ”the widow is a resident of Puddleford, and so am I; and the widow claims a life interest in one third of my land.”
Ike pondered, and rubbed his head, and looked for a long time steadily at the toes of his boots. At last a thought struck him.
”Has she any children?” inquired he.
”She has.”
”Young?”
”Twelve and fourteen.”
”Bad age for you,” said Ike; ”worse than two positive witnesses swearin'
straight inter yer favor.”
”But what have children to do with a principle of law?” I exclaimed, somewhat animated.
”_You're_ green,” exclaimed Ike; ”you'll sprout if you get catched in a shower. What has law got ter do with a widder and two children out here?
Don't you know the widder and the two children will be put right straight to the jury, and that they'll swamp you and your case, and all the la' you can bring agin 'em?”
”Very likely,” said I; ”but is Puddleford law all made for widows, babies, and residents?” inquired I.
”You see,” continued Ike; ”you hain't lived long here. A new country is a kind of self-sustainin' machine. We've all got-ter go in for ourselves.
When folks take the brunt of settlin' wild land, somebody's got-ter and ought-ter suffer. Non-residents have ter pay all taxes. They have to pay onto the value, and onto our takin' care of their lands. We can't afford to scare off the animals and bring their property into market for nothin'.
Why, old Sykes, who lives away down to the east'ard, pays half the taxes of Puddleford, and don't own more than four sections of land. The 'sessors kind-er look at the spirit of the law when they lay taxes, and the spirit of our tax-law stretches 'cordin' to circ.u.mstances. India-rubber ain't nothin' to it. Jest so in la' matters. The la' is favorable to Puddlefordians; our courts lean that way--it's kind-er second nater to 'em--a kind-er law of self-preservation--primary law of natur', you know--a duty; and therefore I was particular to know who the _person_ was who claimed your land.”
”Mine's a case,” said I, after Ike concluded his digression, ”of Puddleford against Puddleford.”
”Puddleford against itself, both residents--a woman and two children against a man?”
”That's the case,” said I.
”Well!” said Ike.