“You won’t tell him at the very last that he may stop on, I ’spose?” said Timson,—“let him think, like, that he’s going to be hanged, and then at the last moment send him a reprieve? My wig, sir, what a voluntary we should have the next Sunday!”
“No, Timson, no. Duty is duty, and I should not be doing mine if I looked over so flagrant an offence.”
“But you won’t alter your mind?—you won’t prosecute?”
“No, sir, no,” said the vicar. “In spite of all, I respect the man and the way in which he has brought up his family. I am sorry, deeply sorry, for Mr Pellet and his wife and daughter; and really, sir, I’d give a heavy sum to have proved him innocent—I would, indeed;” and to give emphasis to his assertion, the old gentleman brought his fist down heavily upon the table.
“Mind the glasses!” said the churchwarden, in a warning voice, and he pushed them a little farther from his friend.
“It’s very sad, and with such a family, too!” said the vicar. “How many has he?”
“Scores!” said the churchwarden.
“Don’t be absurd, Timson—don’t be a fool,” said the vicar; “this is no laughing matter. Suppose that you were in the poor man’s position?”
“Shoo—shoo—shoo—shoo!” exclaimed Mr Timson. “What do you mean? who is absurd—who is a fool? I’m not one, am I? And what’s the good of supposing me the thief? Absurd, indeed!”
“I only said don’t be absurd, don’t be a fool, Timson,” said the vicar.