"Where is he, then?" said his worship.
"Why, Sir, he is—in the Rules!" replied the supper eater.
Every soul in the office laughed at this nice distinction; and the magistrate cut the matter short by telling Mr. Joy he could not detain the gentlemen for the amount of their supper, as it was a simple contract debt; but he could hold them to bail for the assault.
They were accordingly ordered to find bail, and not being prepared with any, they were consigned to the attentions of the turnkey, without any order for their breakfast.
CUPBOARD LOVE.
Mr. George Pendergast, the principal of a flue-feaking establishment—or, in ordinary phrase, a master chimney-sweeper appeared upon a peace warrant issued at the instance of Mr. Christopher Williamson, a painter—not of pictures, but posts and penthouses.
Mr. Christopher Williamson deposed, that on a certain day named, Mr. Pendergast came into his apartments while he and Mrs. Williamson were quietly taking their tea and crumpets, and without any notice whatever, knocked him off of his chair what he was sitting on; and upon his telling Mr. Pendergast he thought such conduct very ungenteel, Mr. Pendergast told him to make himself easy, for he would "come it again" as often as he thought proper; from all which, he verily believed that Mr. Pendergast intended to do him some grievous bodily harm, and therefore he prayed the interposition of the law.
Mr. Pendergast, who stood before the bench all soot without, and all gin and jollity within, very readily admitted the assault—adding, "I think, your worship, it was time to give him a bit of a floorer when I found my own wife in his cupboard!"
His worship said if that was the facts it certainly had a rather awkward appearance; but Mr. Williamson assured him Mrs. Pendergast only ran into the cupboard to avoid her husband's violence—"And upon my honour, your worship," said he, "there wasn't a morsel of Crim. Con., or anything of that 'ere sort, in the business at all."