“Where has the villain conveyed it?”
“Can't say.”
“Who was he?”
“Don't know.”
“Distraction! How could you be such a fool as to let him have it?”
“Why not?—How was I to know?—You'd think it odd if you was to send a porter for your chest—”
“Certainly; but—”
“Very well, then: how could I tell but what the little black fellow was sent by you?—He asked for it quite correctly, according to the address; and that's what we go by, of course, in these cases. And even now, how can I tell but what he was sent by the right owner, and that you're come under false pretences.”
“What, rascal!”
“You'll excuse me:—but you don't authenticate yourself, you know; and I've a right to think as I please. If we were to hold a tight hand on every gentleman's luggage, until he proved his birth, parentage, and education, why, fifty clerks couldn't get through the work. I'll put a case:—suppose, now, you are the gentleman you represent yourself to be,—and, mind me, I don't say you are not,—how should you like, when you came here for your chest, for me to ask you for your certificate of baptism?”