“Don't say that, Williams,” said Mr. Wright dryly, “you and I were just as great villains at his age. Didn't we throw stones? rather!”
Hawes laughed in an adulatory manner, but observing that Mr. Williams, who was a grave, pompous personage, did not smile at all, he added:
“But not to do mischief like this one, I'll be bound.”
“No,” said Mr. Williams, with an air of ruffled dignity.
“No?” cried the other, “where is your memory? Why, we threw stones at everything and everybody, and I suppose we did not always miss, eh? I remember your throwing a stone through the window of a place of worship—(this was a school-fellow of mine, and led me into all sorts of wickedness). I say, was it a Wesleyan shop, Williams, or a Baptist? for I forget. Never mind, you had a fit of orthodoxy. What was the young villain's second offense?”
“Robbing an orchard, sir.”
“The scoundrel! robbing an orchard? Oh, what sweet reminiscences those words recall. I say, Williams, do you remember us two robbing Farmer Harris's orchard?”
“I remember your robbing it, and my character suffering for it.”
“I don't remember that; but I remember my climbing the pear-tree and flinging the pears down, and finding them all grabbed on my descent. What is the young villain's next—Oh! snapping a piece off a counter. Ah! we never did that—because we could always get it without stealing it.”
With this Mr. Wright strolled away from the others, having had what the jocose wretch used to call “a slap at humbug.”