The poor woman was either so unwell, or so much agitated, whilst she was telling this story, that the magistrate ordered her a chair, and Mr. Reid himself was pale as death with fear! but nevertheless they both said they had no wish to proceed in the business—all they wanted was to be allowed to sleep more quietly in future.
As for Teddy Leonard himself, he seemed perfectly at his ease, though he was in wretched case for so high-spirited a person! His principal garment had doubtless done good service to at least a dozen proprietors in succession, his inexpressibles (drab slacks) were napless, grease-spotted, and ventilated at the knees; and he had only one shoe—but then he had plenty of black eyes, and his large small-pox-indented cheeks were very handsomely overlaid with a fret-work of scratches.
When Mr. and Mrs. Reid had said all that they had to say, he never attempted to reply; but stood lounging against the bar, sucking his teeth and twirling his hat, until the magistrate called upon him for his defence, and thereupon ensued the following colloquy:—
"What have you to say to all this, Mr. Leonard?"
"Humph, I don't know! they've served me pretty tidy going along, I think, punching at me with their shilaleghs as they would at a woolsack!"
"Perhaps you did not go along quietly?"
"No, 'faith, I wasn't likely, for I was thinking of going to bed at that time; and there's no fun in being pulled away to a watch-house when a man's thinking of going to bed."
"What are you? what is your trade?"
"My trade?—why I'm a tailor—the more's my luck!"
"Please your worship," said one of the watchmen—seemingly quite surprised at finding he had had so much trouble with a tailor—"please your worship, as we were taking him to the watch-house, he took up his fist and knocked me down like a bullock!"