“Why, I never knowed you p’leecemen could come the soft like that,” sez he; “but what d’yer mean about ‘poor chap?’”
“Well, come in here,” I says, “and I’ll tell yer.”
So we goes in, and as it was cold we has two fours o’ gin hot, with sugar, and as I was now up, I begins to tell him about what took place comin’ to the station, and I says as I was a-goin’ to take something to Number 99, King’s Court, and see if all he’d said was true.
“Here,” says baker to the barman, “fill these here glasses again, Charles,” and then turnin’ to me, says he:—
“Governor, if I’d ha’ known all this when that pore chap come in to my shop to-day I’d ha’ give him a dozen loaves; I’m hanged if I wouldn’t.”
Which was rather hot of him, yer know, sir, and I hope you’ll excuse me a-sayin’ it, but them was his very words, and if he didn’t look as excited as if he didn’t know what to do with hisself.
“Tip that glass off, p’leeceman,” he says, “and let’s be off.”
“Well, good night,” I says, “and if I was you, I don’t think I should press the charge agin him to-morrow.”
“May I never rise another batch if I do,” he says; “but come on.”
“Well, once more good night,” I says.