“O Mr. Gallon! such mischief! such mischief!”
“Speak, woman! speak!” demanded our publican; “say, has he cotched ye?”
“Yes, Gerge, yes,” sobbed Mrs. Margerum, bursting into tears. “To devil he has!” exclaimed Mr. Gallon, stamping furiously with his right foot, “Coom into it hoose, woman; coom into it hoose, and tell us arl aboot it.” So saying, forgetting Tippy Toni’s wants, he retraced his steps with the corn, and flung frantically into the kitchen of his little two-roomed cottage.
“Here, lassie!” cried he, to a little girl, who was frying a dish of bubble-and-squeak at the fire. “Here, lassie, set doon it pan loike, aud tak this corn to it huss, and stand by while it eats it so saying he handed her the sieve, and following her to the door, closed it upon her.
“Noo,” said he to Mrs. Margerum, “sit doon and tell us arl aboot it. Who cotched ye? Nosey, or who?”
“0 it wasn’t me! It was Anthony Thom they caught, and they used him most shemful; but I’ll have him tried for his life ofore my Lord Size, and transported, if it costs me all I’m worth in the world.”
“Anthony Thom was it?” rejoined Mr. Gallon, raising his great eye-brows, and staring wide his saucer eyes, “Anthony Thom was it? but he’d ha’ nothin’ upon oi ‘ope?”
“Nothin’, Gerge,” replied Mrs. Margerum, “nothin’—less now it might just appen to be an old rag of a night-eap of that nasty, covetous body Cuddy Flintoff; but whether it had a mark upon it or not I really can’t say.”
“O dear, but that’s a bad job,” rejoined Mr. Gallon, biting his lips and shaking his great bull-head; “O dear, but that’s a bad job. you know I always chairged ye to be careful ‘boot unlawful goods.”
“You did, Gerge! you did!” sighed Mrs. Margerum; “and if this old rag had a mark, it was a clear oversight. But, O dear!” continued she, bursting into tears, “how they did beat my Anthony Thom!” With this relief she became more composed, and proceeded to disclose all the particulars.