"I means two pickpockets and a thief, sir. It vas Vistlin' Dick as you give such a 'leveller' to,—a rare pretty knock-down I vill say, sir,—never saw a cleaner—Oh! they're a bad lot, they are, 'specially Vistlin' Dick, an' it's lucky for you as I 'appened to come this vay."
"Why, do you mean to say," said Barnabas, staring at the mild-faced man, "do you want me to believe that it was the sight of you that sent them running?"
"Vell, there veren't nobody else to, as I could see, sir," said the man, with a gentle smile and shake of the head. "Volks ain't partial to me in these yere parts, and as to them three, they're a bad lot, they are, but Vistlin' Dick's the vorst—mark my vords, 'e'll come to be topped yet."
"What do you mean by 'topped'?"
"V'y, I means scragged, sir," answered the man, his roving eye glancing continually up and down the alley,
"I means 'anged, sir,—Lord love you, it's in 'is face—never see a more promising mug, consequent, I 've got Vistlin' Dick down in my little book 'ere, along vith a lot of other promising vuns."
"But why in your book?"
"Veil, d' ye see, I keeps a record of all the likely coves, Capital Coves as you might call 'em—" Here the mild man jerked his head convulsively to one side, rolled up his eyes, and protruded his tongue, all in hideous pantomime, and was immediately his placid self again.
"Ah! you mean—hanged?" said Barnabas.
"As ever vas, sir, capital punishment. And I goes round reg'lar jest to keep an eye on my capital coves. Lord! I vatches over 'em all—like a feyther. Theer's some volks as collects books, an' some volks as collects picters an' old coins, but I collects capital coves,—names and faces. The faces I keeps 'ere," and he tapped his placid forehead, "the names I keeps 'ere," and he tapped the little book. "It's my trade d' ye see, and though there's better trades, still there's trades as is vorse, an' that's summat, ain't it?"