“Worse than you, perhaps. And now, friend Furness, as you must be tired with your long evidence, I wish you a good night.”
“Shall I see you down at the Cat and Fiddle?”
“Not for some time, if ever, friend Furness, that you may depend upon.”
“Never go to the Cat and Fiddle! A little wholesome drink drowns care, my friend; and, therefore, although I should be sorry that you indulged too much, yet, with me to look after you—”
“And drink half my ale, eh? No, no, friend Furness, those days are gone.”
“Well, you are not in a humour for it now but another time. Mrs Rushbrook, have you a drop of small beer?”
“I have none to spare,” replied Jane, turning away; “you should have applied to the magistrates for beer.”
“Oh, just as you please,” replied the pedagogue; “it certainly does ruffle people’s temper when there is a verdict of wilful murder, and two hundred pounds for apprehension and conviction of the offender. Good night.”
Furness banged the cottage door as he went out.
Rushbrook watched till he was out of hearing, and then said, “He’s a scoundrel.”