Bill. I didn't, take it. And I won't go.
James. Come along. They'll change it for you at the lock-up.
Bill. You didn't see me steal it! You ain't never a goin' to gi' me in charge?
James. Wrong again, young un! That's? percisely what I am a goin' to do!
Bill. Oh, sir! please, sir! I'm a honest boy. It's the Bible-truth. I'll kiss twenty books on it.
James. I won't ax you.—Why, sir, he ain't even one o' the shoe-brigade. He 'ain't got a red coat. Bless my soul! he 'ain't even got a box—nothin' but a scrubby pair o' brushes as I'm alive! He ain't no shoeblack. He's a thief as purtends to black shoes, and picks pockets.
Bill. You're a liar! I never picked a pocket, in my life.
James. Bad language, you see! What more would you have?
Tho. Who'd iver lia' thowt o' sich wickedness in a boy like that!
Bill. I ain't a wicked boy, no. Nay, doan't thae tell mo that! Thae made gam of mo, and hurried and scurried mo, as iv aw'd been a mak ov a deevil—yo did.