"He gaed aff at sax preceesely, this morning, in his gig, to Kelso."
"Then, by the head of Thistlewood!" cried Strachan, frantically, "my ticker will be turned into tracts against the Corn-laws!"
"Hoot na!" said the waiter, "I canna think that. He looked an unco respectable-like man."
"No man can be respectable," replied the aristocratic Thomas, "who sports such infernal opinions as I heard him utter last night. My poor studs! Fred—they were a gift from Mary Rivers before we quarrelled, and I would not have lost them for the universe! Only think of them being exposed for sale at a free-trade bazaar!"
"Come, Tom—they may turn up yet."
"Never in this world, except at a pawnbroker's. I could go mad to think that my last memorial of Mary is in all probability glittering in the unclean shirt of a bagman!"
"Had you not better apply to the Fiscal?"
"For what purpose? Doubtless the scoundrel has driven off to the nearest railway, and is triumphantly counting the mile-posts as he steams to his native Leeds. No, Fred. Both watch and studs are gone beyond the hope of redemption."
"The loss is certainly a serious one."
"No doubt of it: but a thought strikes me. You recollect the edict, nautæ, caupones, stabularii? I have not studied the civil law for nothing, and am clearly of opinion that in such a case the landlord is liable."