“X plain yourself,” said she.
“No pretty Bobby-she should say,” said he.
“Move on!” cried she—“move on, siree!”
“Peeler of the State, I stands,” said he.
Suddenly some one rushed out at the door (knocking the old lady so that she tumbled over the policeman), and coming up to the boys said, “Are you judges of sweet things?”
“I should rather think so,” replied Jaques.
GETTING A WIGGING.
“Then come along at once,” said he; and before they had time to think, he hurried them upstairs into a room where three pompous-looking attendants in white coats and enormous black neckcloths dressed them up in grand robes, put immense full-bottomed wigs on their heads, and opening a door, pointed to three large chairs. The boys went in and sat down on the chairs, while everybody in the court rose up, making a low bow, and a crier called out—
“All persons, without any further ado before my Lords the Justices of Assize so small Boyer and Determiner, and Jug ale Delivery, draw beer and give to attendants.”
This announcement about beer might have appeared to be an aberration on the crier’s part, had it not been that, as is usual in criminal courts, there were plenty of queer mugs among the people in the building.