“He’s not come, but won’t be long, I expect,” said Miss Stanbridge.
“Oh, in course he’s not here,” cried the cracksman. “Aint likely. He’s dancing after some pretty face, and forgot all about our chapel, and all about the traps, too, I s’pose. I never saw such an owdacious chap. He’d follow a girl into a police station if he fancied her.”
Laura Stanbridge tapped the ground impatiently with her feet. It was evident enough that she was vexed.
“What business is it of yours?” said the Smoucher. “I make it a rule myself never to interfere with a young man’s private affairs.”
“I aint a saying anything against him,” observed the other man, “only I ’spose there’s no harm in speaking one’s mind. Concerning the women the Prince is as weak and wivery-wavery as a cabman that’s lived on Haymarket gin.”
“Well, and if he is, what of that? It’s his only fault. He’s a star—a regular out and outer. What wonders he’s done for us already. Why, he knows more than any of us, and he’s little more than a lad now.”
“Ah, he’s a right down good un—a regular stunner,” cried the cracksman, with the enthusiasm of a true connoisseur. “He did that last job to rights.”
“Lord, missus,” said Miles Slann, the Whitechapel cracksman, “if yer’d been there yer heart would have melted to see how he walked into them safety locks. Chubbs are puzzlers to him, but at the hanky-panky business, the light-fingered part of the profession, there aint any one to touch him.”
“Ah, he’s very clever—there isn’t the slightest doubt of that,” said Miss Stanbridge.
“Clever! I just think he was. He does yer credit, and it’s a good thing yer picked up with him when he was so young. He’s been well taught, and I say agen he does yer credit. He does all on us credit,” repeated Mr. Slann, in a still more forcible manner.