“Had to tell—why, I had to tell what you told me this morning; and I had to prove the bag as belonging to you; for you know you sent me some potatoes in it by little Joey, poor fellow. Wilful Murder, and two hundred pounds upon apprehension and conviction!”
Rushbrook looked at the pedagogue with surprise and contempt.
“Pray, may I ask how they came to know that anything had passed between us yesterday morning, for if I recollect right, you desired me to be secret.”
“Very true, and so I did; but then they knew what good friends we always were, I suppose, and so they sent for me, and obliged me to speak upon my oath.”
“I don’t understand it,” replied Rushbrook; “they might have asked you questions, but how could they have guessed that I had told you anything?”
“My dear friend, you don’t understand it; but in my situation, looking up to me, as every one does, as an example of moral rectitude and correctness of conduct—as a pattern to the juvenile branches of the community,—you see—”
“Yes, I do see that, under such circumstances, you should not go to the ale-house and get tipsy two days, at least, out of the week,” replied Rushbrook, turning away.
“And why do I go to the ale-house, my dear friend, but to look after those who indulge too freely—yourself, for instance? How often have I seen you home?”
“Yes, when you were drunk and I was—” Jane put her hand upon her husband’s mouth.
“And you were what, friend?” inquired Furness, anxiously.