But, at this juncture, Old Amos hove in view, followed by the Apologetic Dutton, with Job and sundry others, on their way to work, and, as they came, they talked together, with much solemn wagging of heads. Having reached the door of "The Bull," they paused and greeted us, and I thought Old Amos's habitual grin seemed a trifle more pronounced than usual.
"So poor Jarge 'as been an' gone an' done for 'isself at last, eh? Oh, my soul! think o' that, now!" sighed Old Amos.
"Allus knowed as 'e would!" added Job; "many's the time I've said as 'e would, an' you know it—all on you."
"It'll be the Barbadies, or Austrayley!" grinned Amos; "transportation, it'll be—Oh, my soul! think o' that now—an' 'im a Siss'n'urst man!"
"An' all along o' a couple o'—rabbits!" said the Ancient, emphasizing the last word with a loud rap on his snuff-box.
"Pa'tridges, Gaffer!—they was pa'tridges!" returned Old Amos.
"I allus said as Black Jarge'd come to a bad end," reiterated Job, "an' what's more—'e aren't got nobody to blame but 'isself!"
"An' all for a couple o'—rabbits!" sighed the Ancient, staring Old
Amos full in the eye.
"Pa'tridges, Gaffer, they was pa'tridges—you, James Dutton—was they pa'tridges or was they not—speak up, James."
Hereupon the man Dutton, all perspiring apology, as usual, shuffled forward, and, mopping his reeking brow, delivered himself in this wise: