"WHERE SHALL I SLEEP?"
Henry Walters, a tailor, was brought up from St. Martin's watch-house, to answer the complaint of Mr. Thomas Thompson, who is a tailor too—that is to say, they are two tailors; Mr. Thompson, the master, and Mr. Walters, the man—or, to speak more proverbially, the servant.
Mr. Walters lodges on Mr. Thomas Thompson's premises, near Leicester-square, and at two o'clock in the morning, Mr. Thomas Thompson, being then fast asleep in bed with his wife, was awoke by some person on his side of the bed, leaning over him, and saying—"Be quiet;—can't you?" At the same moment Mrs. Thompson screamed, and said, "Tom Thompson, there's a strange man in the room!"—"What the devil do you want here?" exclaimed Mr. Tom Thompson—valorously jumping out of bed, and seizing the strange man by the collar. To which the strange man replied, by giving Mr. Tom Thompson a thump on the eye, and unseaming his shirt from top to bottom! This was strange treatment in one's own bed-room! But Mr. Tom Thompson kept his hold, Mrs. Thompson alarmed the lodgers, the lodgers called the watch, the watch came (with as much speed as they could,) and when they held their lanterns to the strange man's face—who should it be but this identical Mr. Walters! He had not "a word to throw at a dog," as one of the witnesses shrewdly remarked; and therefore he was at once consigned to the care of the watchman, who bundled him away to the watch-house. Mr. Tom Thompson added, that his wife was so much alarmed at the circumstance, she was quite unable to attend this examination; but that she had told him she was awoke by some one squeezing her hand tenderly, and saying, as aforesaid, "Be quiet—can't you?"
Mr. Walters was now called upon for his defence. But first it may be as well to say something of his person. He was young—say five-and-twenty; short in stature; by no means fat; parenthesis-legged; brush-cropped; nutmeg complexion; unvaccinated; scarlet-trimmed eyes; an Ashantee nose; and a mouth capacious enough to admit the biggest Battersea cabbage that ever was boiled—
"A combination and a form indeed,
Where everything did seem to set its seal,
To give the world assurance of a tailor!"
We have been thus particular in describing the person of Mr. Walters, in order to show that he had no business whatever to be meddling with Mrs. Thompson, or with any other lady.
And now for his defence:—"Please your worship, Sir," said he, "I have lodged in Mr. Thomas Thompson's house just one month next Toosday week—I think it's Toosday; but howsomever, that's neither here nor there. I'm a young man from the country, your worship; a tailor by trade; and so is Mr. Thomas Thompson—only he's a master, and I'm a man! (His worship smiled.) Last night, your worship, Sir, I met a foo friends, and when I went home I had a great deal of trouble to open the street door—("No doubt of it," observed his worship)—and somehow or other, when I got in, instead of getting into my own room, I got into the yard: it's a sort of timber-yard: and there I was, poking about among the timber, please your worship—I'm sure for a good long hour, and I couldn't find my road out of it for the life of me!—and at last I found myself in Mr. Thomas Thompson's bed-room; but I'll be hanged if ever I touched his wife, or struck him; and I'll give you my honour that I did not go there intentionally."
His worship had no faith in the honour of Mr. Walters, and he was ordered to find bail for the assault, in default whereof he was handed over to the gaoler.