Mr. Bumpkin paused in the act of passing the tumbler to his lips, like one who feels he has been artfully taken in.
“You’ve been done, sir!” said Mr. O’Rapley emphatically, “that man who said he was the Times was no more the Times than you’re Punch.”
“Nor thic Telegrarf feller!”
“No. And you could prosecute them. And I’ll tell you what you could prosecute them for.” Mr. Bumpkin looked almost stupified.
“I’ll tell you what these villains have been guilty of; they’ve been guilty of obtaining money by false pretences, and conspiring to obtain money by false pretences.”
“Have um?” said Bumpkin.
“And you can prosecute them. You’ve only got to go and put the matter in the hands of the police, and then go to some first-rate solicitor who attends police courts; now I can recommend you one that will do you justice. I should like to see these rascals well punished.”
“And will this fust-rate attorney do un for nothin’?”
“Why, hardly; any more than you would sell him a pig for nothing.”
“Then I shan’t prosekit,” said Mr. Bumpkin; “the devil’s in’t, I be no sooner out o’ one thing than I be into another—why I beant out o’ thic watch job yet, for I got to ’pear at the Old Bailey on the twenty-fourth.”