“I’ll tell you,” said George, easing the now quivering-tailed Tippy Tom’s head; “this is Mrs. Margerum you’ve heard me speak ‘boot; and she’s loike to get into a little trooble loike; and I tell’d her she’d best see a ‘liar’ as soon as she could.”
“Just so,” nodded Kebbel, anticipating what had happened. “You see,” continued Mr. Gallon, winding his whip thong round the stick as he spoke “in packing up some little bit things in a hurry loike, she put up a noight cap, and she’s not quoite sure whether she can stand by it or not, ye know.”
“I see,” assented Carrots; “and they’ve got it, I ‘spose?”
“I don’t know that they got it,” now interposed Mrs. Margerum; “but they got my Anthony Thom, and beat him most shameful. Can’t I have redress for my Anthony Thom?”
“We’ll see,” said Carrots, resuming his seat on the milestone, and proceeding to elicit all particulars, beginning with the usual important inquiry, whether Anthony Thom had said anything or not. Finding he had not, Carrots took courage, and seemed inclined to make light of the matter. “The groceries you bought, of course,” said he, “of Roger Rounding the basket-man—Roger will swear anything for me; and as for the night-cap, why say it was your aunt’s, or your niece’s, or your sister’s—Caroline Somebody’s—Caroline Frazer’s, Charlotte Friar’s, anybody’s whose initials are C. F.”
“O! but it wasn’t a woman’s night-cap, sir, it was a man’s; the sort of cap they hang folks in; and I should like to hang Old Mosey for beating my Anthony Thom,” rejoined Mrs. Margerum.
“I’m afraid we can’t hang him for that,” replied Mr. Kebbel, laughing. “Might have him up for the assault, perhaps.”
“Well, have him up for the assault,” rejoined Mrs. Margerum; “have him up for the assault. What business had he to beat my Anthony Thom?”
“Get him fined a shilling, and have to pay your own costs, perhaps,” observed Mr. Kebbel; “better leave that alone, and stick to the parcel business—better stick to the parcel business. There are salient points in the case. The hour of the night is an awkward part,” continued he, biting his nails; “not but that the thing is perfectly capable of explanation, only the Beaks don’t like that sort of work, it won’t do for us to provoke an inquiry into the matter.”
“Just so,” assented Mr. Gallon, who thought Mrs. Margerum had better be quiet.