“I’ve ’eered tell on ’im,” said Bumpkin.
“I’m that man!” said the Don, “and this is my nephew, Mr. Snigger. He tells me you’ve got a case comin’ on?”
“I be.”
“Just step outside,” said the Don, “we mustn’t talk ’ere.” So they went into Westminster Hall, and the good-natured O’Rapley asked if Mr. Bumpkin would like to look round, and if so he said he would be happy to show him, for he was very pleased to see anyone from the scene of his youthful exploits.
“Thankee, sir—thankee, sir,” answered Bumpkin, delighted to find another “native” among “furriners.” “And this ’ere genleman be thy nevvy, sir?”
“He is, and very proud of him I am; he’s my sister’s son.”
“Seems a nice quiet boy,” said Mr. Bumpkin. “Now how old might he be?”
“Old,” said Mr. O’Rapley, looking deedily at the floor and pressing his hand to his forehead, “why he’ll be seventeen come March.”
“Hem! his ’ed be a good deal older nor thic: his ’ed be forty—it’s my way o’ thinkin’.”
The Don laughed.