Mr. H. Did you gather whose head it was that they were speaking of?
Pot. Yes; his lordship’s.
Mr. H. (impressively and plaintively). And why?
Pot. Because they said he had jugged their comrades like a damned old smoutch!
J. N. Jugged?
Pot. Put them in prison, my lord.
J. N. (Aside: That Norwich affair.) Wait! I must write my self down a smoutch—smoutch? no doubt a foreign word.
Mr. H. What else have you heard the prisoner say.
Pot. I have heard him threaten to make her Majesty the Queen take in washing.
J. N. Plain washing?