Brodie. The fellow they call Jingling Geordie? (Hunt nods.) Yes.
Hunt. Bad character.
Brodie. Let us say . . . disreputable.
Hunt. Any means of livelihood?
Brodie. I really cannot pretend to guess, I have met the creature at cock-fights [which, as you know, are my weakness]. Perhaps he bets.
Hunt. [Mr. Deacon, from what I know of the gentleman, I should say that if he don’t—if he ain’t open to any mortal thing—he ain’t the man I mean.] He used to be about with a man called Badger Moore.
Brodie. The boxer?
Hunt. That’s him. Know anything of him?
Brodie. Not much. I lost five pieces on him in a fight; and I fear he sold his backers.
Hunt. Speaking as one admirer of the noble art to another, Mr. Deacon, the losers always do. I suppose the Badger cockfights like the rest of us?