“I don’t care, and I says it’s a shame, not alone to keep the poor boy locked up like a prisoner, and badly fed, as does a growing boy no end of harm; and I will say it, mum,” she continued, turning to my mother, “as dear and good a boy as ever came into this school, but to go and say he was a thief, as he couldn’t be, sir. You look in his eyes and see.”
This to the Doctor, who coughed again.
“My good woman, I must insist upon you leaving the room.”
“A moment, Doctor,” cried my uncle eagerly; “this person seems to know something. Stop!”
“I wasn’t a-going, sir,” said Cook sharply, “not till I’ve spoke out what I’ve come to say.”
“Then, for goodness’ sake, speak, woman, and go,” cried the Doctor angrily. “We are engaged.”
“Which well I know it, sir, and I’m going to speak,” said Cook, with dignity; “and if I’d known before Polly ’Opley—your keeper’s wife’s daughter, Sir Orkus,” she continued, turning to the General.
“Oh yes, yes, yes, I knew Polly when she was a baby,” said the old gentleman, nodding at the girl, who courtesied to him; “but if you know anything about this—this terrible affair, speak out.”
“Which I will, sir, and if I lose my place, and you do happen to want a good plain—”
“Cook, Cook, pray speak out,” cried Mrs Doctor.