“Why, you see, when the case is too clear against him, and that to find for him would be too barefaced, we get every man to mark down on a slip of paper the least amount of damages he is disposed to give against him; when they're all down, we tot them up, and divide by twelve—“*
*By no means an uncommon proceeding in revenue cases,
even at the present day.
“Silence,” said another, “till we hear John Dickson's song.”
The said John Dickson was at the time indulging them with a comic song, which was encored with roars of laughter.
“Hallo!” shouted one of those at the cards, “here's Jack Brereton has prigged the ace of hearts.”
“Oh, gentlemen,” said Jack, who was a greater knave at the cards than any in the pack, “upon, my honor, gentlemen, you wrong me.”
“There—he has dropped it,” said another; “look under the table.”
The search was made, and up was lugged the redoubtable ace of hearts from under one of Jack's feet, who had hoped, by covering it, to escape detection. Detected, however, he was, and, as they all knew him well, the laughter was loud accordingly, and none of them laughed louder than Jack himself.
“Jack,” said another of them, “let us have a touch of the legerdemain.”
“Gentlemen, attention,” said Jack. “Will any of you lend me a halfpenny?”