“Certainly, that is right enough.”
“And who do you think of binding him to?”
“That’s just the question I was going to ask you.”
“Me? I don’t know what answer to make.”
The Smoucher leant his head on his hand and began to ruminate.
“There’s a gentleman we both on us know,” said the cracksman, “an’ both on us respect. His name is Mathew Furness. He began life as a half shallow in the streets; from a shiverer he became a cadger, from a cadger he became duffer (pedlar), from a duffer he became an area sneak, a shop bouncer, and a fogle-tugger. From a fogle-tugger he became a swell mobbite, and then a rampsman, and then a cracksman. He has ascended from the very foot to the very summit of his honourable and scientific profession. And besides that he is up to all the other little games of life that are worth knowing. He has been a ‘shoful man’ and a ‘smasher,’ and a racecourse flat-catcher, and he’s as famed a fence as Ikey Solomon or Laura Stanbridge, the Swell-street (West-end) Adam Tiler.”
“There’s no doubt Matt’s a great man—a very great man,” said the cracksman, meditatively.
“And who so well adapted to take my young gentleman in hand?” cried Miss Stanbridge.
The Smoucher had not vouchsafed any reply to the adulatory harangue.
“The only question is, will he do so?” said Laura.