“He’s a stunner at using the pen,” said one, looking on. I wish I knew how to do it.”
“You’d soon find yourself in the ‘steel’ if you did, old man,” cried one of the party.
The Smoucher, having finished the document upon which he was engaged, folded up the same, creased the paper as if it had been long written, and after examining the signatures attached thereto of ministers and church-wardens, he dipped his fingers under the fireplace, and smeared it with ashes, to the infinite delight of the lookers on, who swore that there wasn’t one in twenty who wouldn’t take it for a real concern.
The man, having folded this precious document in his green kingsman or green silk pocket handkerchief, and placed it in his hat, after the manner of the Persians, departed.
A little more business was transacted in the same manner, and then the cracksman, Laura, and the boy were left alone with the smoucher.
“Well, Laura,” said the latter, in a pleased tone, “who would have thought of seeing you here, and you’ve brought a stranger with you?” he added, glancing at Alf Purvis. “He looks too genteel for this place.”
“He’s sharp, and willing to learn.”
“Ah, I see; you want him taught—wish to have him put in training, eh?”
Laura Stanbridge nodded.
“Well, if you mean business, he must be brought regularly up to the trade—or profession, more properly speaking.”