“Ha, ha, ha!” laughed the three at this unnecessary information.
“A mistake; I got it in the oddest way.”
“Ha, ha, ha!” again roared his hearers in chorus.
“O Lord! I shall be hanged for this,” cried Job.
“In course you will,” said Mortlake, comfortingly.
Job now hastily felt in his other pockets to see if he unwittingly possessed any other property not his own, when he pulled out a large handkerchief well saturated with Sir Scipio’s blood.
Mortlake gave an expressive cluck. Bats uttered a low, accusing whistle.
“What! he was game—was he? Well, it is all over now; tell us how it happened, and what you did with the body,” said the third.
In vain Job persisted in the truth. He was only laughed at....
“Moll, the gin.” Such a gamy highwayman as Job presented evidence of being deserves to be treated! Let us see in the next scene how he was treated.