"It used to be," replied his lordship.
"I thought so," said Mr. Sikes. "Then I says to yer face you're a bloomin', footlin' rotter."
"'Gently, brother, gently, pray,'" said Hilton.
"A bloomin', footlin' rotter," repeated Mr. Sikes with the earnestness of conviction. "An' I've waited five-an'-twenty year to tell you so."
"Ah," said the Lord Chancellor, with some interest. "How is that?"
"I once paid you to defend me at the Dawchester 'Sizes respectin' a mare wot 'ad follered me inter 'Ampshire. A sickenin' 'ash you made of it. You got two quid fer the job, an' I got two year. I b'lieve you woz boozed."
"Pray forgive William, my lord," said Hilton. "He forgets himself strangely when he's excited. We have a lot of trouble with him at home."
William glared at him. "I ain't forgot that bloke's ugly mug, any'ow. I swore I'd be quits with 'im one day, an', holy Moses, it's my go now." Saying this, he clutched his jemmy, and advanced threateningly towards his lordship.