The magistrate asked the prisoner how he came by it.
He said he lodged at Mister Burn's, the fighting man's, in Windmill-street, and two gentlemen there, whom he did not know, gave him the cheque to get cashed.
His worship directed an officer to go to Burn's house and inquire about it.
In about half an hour he returned with Mister Burn in company.
"Burn, do you know anything of this business?" asked the magistrate.—"Who was it gave this paper to the man at the bar?"
"Who gave it to him, your worship?" said Mister Burn, "Why, I did." "You did!—and pray how did you come by it?"—"Why, I won it, your worship—won it by shaking in the hat;" replied Mister Burn, squeezing the sides of his hat together, and giving it a hearty shake to show his worship the trick of it.
The magistrate looked at Mr. Freshfield; Mr. Freshfield looked at Mister Burn; Mister Burn looked boldly round at everybody as if nothing was the matter, and at last, Mr. Freshfield ejaculated—"Well, that's a rum go, however! D—n me, never thought of that, you know. Don't believe it, though. Coming it strong, eh! Burn? May be, though—won't be sure."
After soliloquising some time in this style, he began a long history of his having gone from Spring's to Burn's, and Burn's to Spring's, and betting upon the "match for Monday;" and taking the long odds at one place and giving them at another, till the magistrate and everybody else was quite weary of it. So his worship discharged the prisoner; recommended Mister Burn not to addict himself to "shaking in the hat," directed the city officer to return Mr. Freshfield his 300l. "cheque," and advised Mr. Freshfield to put it into his pocket, and return to his native woods as soon as possible.