“Oh! of course, you are sure to go to Scotland for your illustrations, as if there was no such place as England in the world,” quietly remarked Molly, with a curl of her pretty lip.
“Ah! Molly, dear, you are unjust. It is true I go to Scotland for an illustration, but didn’t I come to England for a wife? Now, don’t go frowning at that hole as if it couldn’t be bridged over.”
“It is the worst hole you ever made,” said the despairing wife, holding it up to view.
“You make a worsted hole of it then, Moll, and it’ll be all right. Besides, you don’t speak truth, for I once made a worse hole in your heart.”
“You never did, sir. Go on with your stupid illustrations,” said Molly.
“Well, then, let me see—where was I?”
“In Scotland, of course!”
“Ah, yes. The population of all Scotland is under four millions, and that of London—that is, of the area embraced in the Metropolitan Police District, is estimated at above four million seven hundred thousand—in round numbers. Of course I give it you all in round numbers.”
“I don’t mind how round the numbers are, Giles, so long as they’re all square,” remarked the little wife with much simplicity.
“Well, just think of that number for our army to watch over; and that population—not all of it, you know, but part of it—succeeds—in spite of us in committing, during one year, no fewer than 25,000 ‘Principal’ offences such as murders, burglaries, robberies, thefts, and such-like. What they would accomplish if we were not ever on the watch I leave you to guess.