“Lobkins!” repeated the judge,—“Lobkins! Come hither, Saunders; have not we that name down in our black books?”
“So, please your worship,” quoth a little stout man, very useful in many respects to the Festus of the police, “there is one Peggy Lobkins, who keeps a public-house, a sort of flash ken, called the Mug, in Thames Court,—not exactly in our beat, your worship.”
“Ho, ho!” said Justice Burnflat; winking at Mr. Brandon, “we must sift this a little. Pray, Mr. Paul Lobkins, what relation is the good landlady of the Mug, in Thames Court, to yourself?”
“None at all, sir,” said Paul, hastily; “she's only a friend!”
Upon this there was a laugh in the court.
“Silence!” cried the justice. “And I dare say, Mr. Paul Lobkins, that this friend of yours will vouch for the respectability of your character, upon which you are pleased to value yourself?”
“I have not a doubt of it, sir,” answered Paul; and there was another laugh.
“And is there any other equally weighty and praiseworthy friend of yours who will do you the like kindness?”
Paul hesitated; and at that moment, to the surprise of the court, but above all to the utter and astounding surprise of himself, two gentlemen, dressed in the height of the fashion, pushed forward, and bowing to the justice, declared themselves ready to vouch for the thorough respectability and unimpeachable character of Mr. Paul Lobkins, whom they had known, they said, for many years, and for whom they had the greatest respect. While Paul was surveying the persons of these kind friends, whom he never remembered to have seen before in the course of his life, the lawyer, who was a very sharp fellow, whispered to the magistrate; and that dignitary nodding as in assent, and eying the new-comers, inquired the names of Mr. Lobkins's witnesses.
“Mr. Eustace Fitzherbert” and “Mr. William Howard Russell,” were the several replies.