“What is the charge made against these people, Quality?” inquired Sir Waldron.
“Well,—then,” replied Quality, “for that matter,—your worship,—you must ask Batter.”
“I ha' nought to say,—nought in the world,” exclaimed Batter; “but they're oddish bodies—I must say that for Quality. He apprehended and I assisted;—not a thing more.”
“Your worship,” said Quality, with a most piteous countenance;—“your worship know better:—I never apprehends nobody.”
“That's true enough. Constable Quality, I must needs confess,” observed Sir Waldron.
“I thank your worship, kindly, for your good word,” quoth Quality.
“Oh! do not be such an idiot as to take what I have said as a compliment. The feet is, Quality, you want either heart or wit enough to capture a fly; Batter, luckily for the Hundred, sins a little on the opposite side to you, Onesiphorus: all is fish that comes near his net; for one real offender, he brings at least fifty innocent people before me. To say the truth, I do not believe another brace of such ignorant blockheads have flourished in one parish, since the days of Dogberry and Verges. Batter, I am sure you have taken these people:—what have they done? To begin with this good man, who has the appearance of a pedlar;—what do either of you know of him?”
“Why,” said Quality, with a shake of the head and an odd sort of frown which he intended to be very significant; “why, your worship, I can't say that I know any good of him.”
“You utterly incomparable ninny, do you know any evil of him?”
“For that matter,” quoth Quality, to the baronet, “I refer to Batter.”