“Ah! I don’t know about them,” said the boy. “They’re artful dodgers, they are.”
“Is ’em now? but artfulness don’t allays win, do ur?”
“No,” said Horatio; “but it goes a long way, and sometimes when it’s gone a long way it beats itself.”
“Look at that,” said Joe; “that’s like that ere—”
“Be quiet, Joe,” said Bumpkin; “let I talk, will ur? You said it beats itself, sir?”
“If the judge gets ’old of him, it’s sure to,” said Horatio. “There ain’t no judge on the Bench as will let artfulness win if he knows it. I’ve sin em watchin like a cat watches a mouse; and directly it comes out o’ the ’ole, down he is on em—like that:” and he slapped his hand on the table with startling effect.
“Good!” said Bumpkin.
“And don’t they know who the solicitor is, eh—that’s all! My word, if he’s a shady one—the judge is down on the case like winkin.”
“And be this ere Locust a shady un?” (Another wink at Mrs. Bumpkin.)
“Ah! I’m too young to know.”