"My uncle Jervas—" I exclaimed.
"Saved from des'prit courses!" repeated Mr. Shrig. "Himself, sir. Lord love him, 'e was always a-doin' of it; many a pore soul, male and female, 'e's saved from the river—ah, and worse as well, I know—ekally ready wi' fist or purse, ah, by Goles, an' vat vas better, with 'ope for the 'elpless an' 'elp for them as it seemed nothin' nor nobody could reach 'cept the law—a friend to them as thought they 'ad no friend but death. A fine gentleman, sir—yes, a tippy, a go, a bang-up blood, a reg'lar 'eavy-toddler, but most of all—a man! And I says again, God bless 'im an' 'is memory—amen!"
"Amen!" I repeated, while Mr. Shrig, tugging at something in the depths of a capacious side pocket, eventually drew thence a large, vivid-hued handkerchief and blew his nose resoundingly; which done, he blinked at me, surely the mildest-seeming man in all the world, despite the brass-mounted pistol which, disturbed in its lurking place by the sudden extrication of the handkerchief, peeped at me grimly from his pocket.
"Mr. Shrig, I should like to shake your hand," said I.
"'Eartily an' vith a vill, sir!" he answered.
"You see, I loved and honoured him also, Mr. Shrig."
"Verefore an' therefore, sir, I make bold to ask if you're partic'ler busy to-day?"
"I am here to meet a friend and then I am for the country."
"Tonbridge vay, sir?"
"Yes, why do you ask?"