“Well! it was about your friend.”
“My friend?”
“The peaceable gentleman the two young ruffians had chased down the road.”
“Oh! he was one of them,” said Jane, “that is plain enough now in course. What did they say about him?”
“'Sold!' says my one to Tom's. 'And no mistake,' says Tom's. Oh! they spoke out, took no more notice of us four than if we had no ears. Then says mine: 'What do you think of your pal now?' and what do you think Tom's answered, Jenny?—it was rather a curious answer—multum in parvo as we say at school, and one that makes me fear there is a storm brewing for our mutual friend, the peaceable gentleman, Jenny—alias the downy runner.”
“Why, what did he say?”
“He said, 'I think—he won't be alive this day week! '”
“The wretches!”
“No! you don't see—they thought he had betrayed them.”
“But, of course, you undeceived them,” said Robinson.