You must know, Sir, when he was a lad, the day after he broke into his master's house in Wych Street, he picked a gentleman's pocket in our church, during sarvice time,—that he did, the heathen. "I wouldn't force him for the world: but if he don't tip the stivers, may I be cursed if he don't get a taste of the aqua pompaginis. It was the first expression of the mother's blood. It wasn’t anything splendid, you know. She stood there with white set face and nervously clenched fingers. ’ That arrested her. Well, I was all for dragging in Bow Street there and then, and getting the pair of those fraudsters thrown in gaol. ” She paused. \" He said. You can’t possibly understand!” He began a confused explanation, a perplexing contradictory apology for his urgency and wrath. " "I didn't suspect you of so much superstition, Mr.
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