Lad (with a doleful wag of his bullet-head). “Cos then I shouldn’t have read none of them highwaymen’s books, sir; it was them as was the beginning of it.”
Governor. “Ah!” (a pause) “Have you a mother, my lad?”
Lad. “Boo-oh!”
Governor. “Answer me, my lad, have you a mother?”
Lad (convulsively clasping the corners of his collars, and hiding his eyes in them). “Ye-ye-ess, sir!”
Governor. “Ah, I thought so! where does she live?”
Lad. “Man-manchester, please, sir!” (a tremulous sniff, indicative of the impending explosion).
Governor. “And what do you think would be her feelings could she see you as you now are?”
Lad. “Boo-ooh” (here a writhe so agonized that a hand had to be spared from his eyes to save his trousers from slipping down). “Boo-ooh! I was just a thinkin’ on her when you opened the cell, sir! Boo-oo-ooh!”
Governor. “You were thinking of your mother, eh? Well, well, I’m glad to hear that. If I let you go back to your own cell, will you promise never to swear again?”