A roar of laughter greeted this statement. Mr. Nimble turning it into the jury-box like a flood.
“I wur in Lunnun—”
“Yes—yes,” says his counsel; “but what locality?”
You might just as well have put him under a mangle, as to try to get evidence out of him like that.
“Look,” says the Judge, “attend to me; if you go on like that, you will not be allowed your expenses.”
“What took place?” asks his counsel; “can’t you tell us, man?”
“Why the thief cotch—”
“I object,” says Mr. Nimble; “you mustn’t call him a thief; it is for the jury, my lord, to determine that.”
“That is so,” says my lord; “you mustn’t call him a thief, Mr. Bumpkin.”
“Beg pardon, your lord; but ur stole my watch.”