“Square!”
“Yes! make up for what has been stolen.”
“Nothing!” said the vicar, indignantly—“no amount. The sin is there, and we cannot remove it.”
“’Spose not!” said Timson; “but if twenty or thirty pounds put in the poor-box on the sly would make you feel all right again, and let poor old Pellet off with a good bullying, upon my soul I should feel half disposed to find the money.”
“Don’t be irreverent, Timson; a man’s words are never strengthened by an oath. I detest swearing.”
“Swearing! That’s not swearing,” said Timson; “that’s only being emphatic.”
“Then don’t be emphatic, Timson, but speak plainly, like a man.”
“Humph!” ejaculated the churchwarden; and then followed a long period devoted to smoking.
“Only think of a man of his talent being a thief!” said the vicar, at last.
“What! the Papist?” exclaimed Timson; “why, you could see—”