“Woman,” replied I.
“Oh, something peculiarly in the female line,” said he. “I hope not an object in the greening way?”
“No; something preparatory to, and going before that. Can’t you guess?”
“No—yes—let me see—orange blossom?”
“Yes, orange blossom,” said I. “The thief wants to be married. She has laid in the dowry from the same house in Richmond Street, and finished off with the bride’s badge.”
Our conversation terminated with a laugh, for, after all, we were scarcely serious, and I repaired to Mrs Thick, a fine specimen of her class, who, rather than pocket a penny from stolen goods, would have surrendered her whole stock, amounting to hundreds of pounds. As I went along I continued my former ruminations on this wonderful succession of robberies. That they were all done by one hand I had, as I have said, little doubt; but, considering the short period of time, the difficulty of watching and accomplishing even one house, the multiplied chances of being seen, the obstructions of locks, the accidents so rife in pledging or disposing by sale, the many inquiries and investigations that had already been made by sharp people, I could not help being filled with admiration at a dexterity so unexampled in my experience. And then, if I was right in my whimsical conjecture as to sex, what a wonderful creature of a woman she must be!
“She is worthy of me anyhow,” I said to myself; and as we illiterate people are fond of a pun, I added, just for my own ear, “I will catch her through thick or thin.”
Now, don’t be angry at my wit; it is better than you think; for don’t you remember of one of the name of Thin, with the three balls above his door?
And not insensible to the effect of my solitary effort at being clever out of my sphere, I entered the shop of the broker.
“Now, Mrs Thick,” said I, “have you got a match for my swatch?”