“And did you, sir?” asked Jenny in great excitement.
“Yes,” said the other, “I passed him even.”
“But did you catch him?”
“Well! why—yes—I caught him—as the Chinese caught the Tartar. This was one of your downy coves that are up to every move. When he found he hadn't legs to run from me he slips back to meet me. Down he goes under my leg—I go blundering over him twenty miles an hour. He lifts me clear over his head and I come flying down from the clouds heel over tip. I'd give twenty pounds to know how it was done, and fifty to see it done—to a friend, All I know is that I should have knocked my own brains out if it had not been for my hat and my hand—they bore the brunt between them, as you see.”
“And what became of the poor man?” asked Jane.
“Well, when the poor man had flung me over his head he ran on faster than ever, and by the time I had shaken my knowledge-box and found out north from south, I heard the poor man's nailed shoes clattering down the road. To start again a hundred yards behind a poor man who could run like that would have been making a toil of a trouble, so I trotted back to meet Hazy.
“Well, I am glad he got off clear—ain't you, Tom?”
“Yes—no. A scoundrel that hashed the master like this—why, Jane, you must be mad!”
“Spare your virtuous indignation,” said the other coolly. “Remember I had been hunting him like a wild beast till his heart was nearly broke, and, when I was down, he could easily have revenged himself by giving me a kick with his heavy shoes on the head or the loins that would have spoiled my running for a month of Sundays. What do you say to that?”
Robinson colored. “I say you are very good to make excuses for an unfortunate man—for a rascal—that is to say, a burglar; a—”