“Every bit of it. I swears to it, sir.”
“And how came you to be in the office to see it?”
“How come I in the office to see it?” said Mike, staring; “how come I in the office to see it?”
“Yes. Your work’s in the yard, isn’t it?”
“Course it is,” said Mike, with plenty of effrontery; “but I heerd the money jingling like, and I went in to see.”
“And very kind of you too, Mike,” said the constable, jocularly. “Don’t you forget to tell that to the magistrates.”
“Magistrits? What magistrits? Master arn’t going to give me in custody, I know.”
“Indeed, but I am, you scoundrel,” cried Uncle Josiah, wrathfully. “You are one of the worst kind of thieves—”
“Here, take that back, master.”
“Worst kind of scoundrels—dogs who bite the hand that has fed them.”