“Ha,” answered Bumpkin, “there worn’t a better feller at plough nor thic there; and he could mend a barrer or a ’arrer, and turn his ’and to pooty nigh anything about t’ farm.”
“And is there any reason that can be assigned for this extraordinary conduct? Wasn’t in debt, I suppose?”
Mr. Bumpkin laughed one of his old big fireside laughs such as he had not indulged in lately.
“Debt! why they wouldn’t trust un a shoe-string.
Where the devil wur such a chap as thic to get money to get into debt wi’?”
“My dear sir, we don’t want money to get into debt with; we get into debt when we have none.”
“Do ur, sir. Then if I hadn’t ’ad any money I’d like to know ’ow fur thee’d ha’ trusted I.”
“Dear me,” said Mr. Prigg, “what a very curious way of putting it! But, however, soldier or no soldier, we must have his evidence. I must see about it: I must go to the dépôt. Now, with regard to your case at the Old Bailey.”
“Well,” said Mr. Bumpkin, rather testily; “I be bound over to proserkit, and that be all I knows about un. I got to give seam evidence as I guv afore the Lord Mayor, and the Lord Mayor said as the case wur clear, and away it went for trial.”
“Indeed! dear me!”