“Dated seven years ago and long out of date. That won’t do, my man. Well what else have you done?”
“Arrah! odd jobs, an’ maybe, a copper or two from a friend or a Christian lady of the town or the praste. God bless them.”
“Now, turn up the sleeve of your arm, higher, let’s see your muscles, man.”
A brawny, muscular arm was bared to view.
“An arm, your Worships will observe” said Edward, “that hasn’t done a stroke of honest work these ten years back.”
“You’re a married man, I think, Graham?”
“’Deed, I am, sorr, worse luck.”
“Where’s your wife?”
Graham couldn’t say, but when his memory was assisted he confessed she had left him years ago, but not before he had been convicted three or four times in that very Court of aggravated assault upon her.
“You didn’t strike Pat Sullivan last night, you say?”