“Under the belt,” ejaculated Lickford.
“No, it wasn’t—I say, Dangle,” said the witness, “it was just on his waistcoat pocket, and he says that’s below the belt. If he likes to wear his belt round his neck, of course he gets hit under.”
“And if you wear yours round your ankle, there’s not much room for your bread-basket,” retorted Cottle.
“And where does Fisher minor come in?” asked the judge; “was he in the middle of the mill?”
“No. You see, we were just in the middle of it, and these jolly cheats were beginning to cave in—”
“Ho, ho!—It would take a lot more than you to make us—”
“Order in the court—go on, Wheatfield.”
“There you are—shut up, you chaps—beginning to cave in, when Clapperton yelled for me, and I had to go.”
“Lucky job for you,” growled Cottle. “You wouldn’t have been able to go at all five minutes later.”
Whereupon Percy appealed to the court to keep order.