"That's not bad, considering. What were you laying it on for?" This to Huffham.
"I've not finished yet, not by no manner of means; I mean to take it out of all the lot of 'em. Call themselves gents! Why, if a working-man's son was to behave as they does, he'd get five years at a reformatory. I've known it done before today."
"I daresay you have; you look like a man who knew a thing or two. What were you laying it on for?"
"What for? why, look here!" And Mr. Huffham pointed to the broken bottles and the damaged case.
"And I'm a hard-working woman, I am, sir, and I'm seventy-three this next July; and it's hard work I find it to pay my rent: and wherever I'm to get the money for them there things, goodness knows, I don't. It'll be the workhouse, after all!" Thus Mrs. Huffham lifted up her voice and wept.
"And they calls themselves gents, and they comes in here, and takes advantage of an old woman, and robs her right and left, and thinks they're going to get off scot free; not if I know it this time they won't." Mr. Stephen Huffham looked as though he meant it, every word.
"Did you do that?" asked the stranger of Bailey.
"No, I didn't."
"I don't care who did it; they're that there liars I wouldn't believe a word of theirs on oath; they did it between them, and that's quite enough for me."
"I suppose one of you did do it?" asked the stranger.