"Tell me first what town this is."
"Culbut."
He said it in much the same tone as I might have answered "Manchester" or "Birmingham," to anyone who should have asked me the same question in either of those cities—with a look of surprise and enquiry.
"Oh, Culbut!" I said. "Yes, of course. And Culbut is in Upsidonia. I see. Well, in London, England, where I come from, they don't lock a person up for offering sixpence to a tramp, even when the tramp turns out to be a lord; and if they do lock them up, it isn't in a place like this."
He looked round the cosy little room with some disgust.
"It is disgraceful," he said. "My father ought to know about it. I didn't know there were any such places left. You've a perfect right to make trouble about this. It is a clear case for the Prisoners' Aid Society, and I'm sure, if you act properly, as you promised to, for my father, he will take up the case."
"Thanks very much," I said. "I have no particular complaint to make. The manners and customs of—what's the name of the place?—Culbut—are different from those I've been accustomed to, but they don't seem to be entirely objectionable. Can you tell me what they will do, by the by, supposing I am found guilty of the charge brought against me—whatever it is—to-morrow!"
"Oh, we'll try and get you off. Your appearance is in your favour."
"Thank you. But tell me what they will do if I am found guilty."
"Well, there has been a good deal of it lately, and the police are determined to stamp it out. And Potter is rather high game to fly at, you must admit. He is determined to get you a month, which is the limit without bodily assault."