“Mr. Brass,” said the other, in a decided tone, “I am engaged. You see that I am occupied with these gentlemen. If you will communicate your business to Mr. Chuckster yonder, you will receive every attention.”
“Gentlemen,” said Brass, laying his right hand on his waistcoat, and looking towards the father and son with a smooth smile—“Gentlemen, I appeal to you—really, gentlemen—consider, I beg of you. I am of the law. I am styled ‘gentleman’ by Act of Parliament. I maintain the title by the annual payment of twelve pound sterling for a certificate. I am not one of your players of music, stage actors, writers of books, or painters of pictures, who assume a station that the laws of their country don’t recognise. I am none of your strollers or vagabonds. If any man brings his action against me, he must describe me as a gentleman, or his action is null and void. I appeal to you—is this quite respectful? Really, gentlemen—”
“Well, will you have the goodness to state your business then, Mr. Brass?” said the notary.
“Sir,” rejoined Brass, “I will. Ah Mr. Witherden! you little know the—but I will not be tempted to travel from the point sir. I believe the name of one of these gentlemen is Garland.”
“Of both,” said the notary.
“In‑deed!” rejoined Brass, cringing excessively. “But I might have known that from the uncommon likeness. Extremely happy, I am sure, to have the honour of an introduction to two such gentlemen, although the occasion is a most painful one. One of you gentlemen has a servant called Kit?”
“Both,” replied the notary.
“Two Kits?” said Brass smiling. “Dear me!”
“One Kit, sir,” returned Mr. Witherden angrily, “who is employed by both gentlemen. What of him?”
“This of him sir,” rejoined Brass, dropping his voice impressively. “That young man, sir, that I have felt unbounded and unlimited confidence in, and always behaved to as if he was my equal—that young man has this morning committed a robbery in my office, and been taken almost in the fact.”
“This must be some falsehood!” cried the notary.
“It is not possible,” said Mr. Abel.
“I’ll not believe one word of it,” exclaimed the old gentleman.
Mr. Brass looked mildly round upon them, and rejoined.
“Mr. Witherden sir, your words are actionable, and if I was a man of low and mean standing, who couldn’t afford to be slandered, I should proceed for damages. Hous’ever sir, being what I am, I merely scorn such expressions. The honest warmth of the other gentleman I respect, and I’m truly sorry to be the messenger of such unpleasant news. I shouldn’t have put myself in this painful position, I assure you, but that the lad himself desired to be brought here in the first instance, and I yielded to his prayers. Mr. Chuckster sir, will you have the goodness to tap at the window for the constable that’s waiting in the coach?”
The three gentlemen looked at each other with blank faces when these words were uttered, and Mr. Chuckster, doing as he was desired, and leaping off his stool with something of the excitement of an inspired prophet whose foretellings had in the fullness of time been realised, held the door open for the entrance of the wretched captive.
Such a scene as there was when Kit came in, and bursting into the rude eloquence with which Truth at length inspired him, called Heaven to witness that he was innocent, and that how the property came to be found upon him he knew not! Such a confusion of tongues, before the circumstances were related, and the proofs disclosed! Such a dead silence when all was told, and his three friends exchanged looks of doubt and amazement.
“Is it not possible,” said Mr. Witherden, after a long pause, “that this note may have found its way into the hat by some accident—such as the removal of papers on the desk, for instance?”
But this was clearly shown to be quite impossible. Mr. Swiveller, though an unwilling witness, could not help proving to demonstration, from the position in which it was found, that it must have been designedly secreted.
“It’s very distressing,” said Brass, “immensely distressing, I am sure. When he comes to be tried, I shall be very happy to recommend him to mercy on account of his previous good character. I did lose money before, certainly, but it doesn’t quite follow that he took it. The presumption’s against him—strongly against him—but we’re Christians, I hope?”
“I suppose,” said the constable, looking round, “that no gentleman here can give evidence as to whether he’s been flush of money of late. Do you happen to know sir?”
“He has had money from time to time, certainly,” returned Mr. Garland, to whom the man had put the question. “But that, as he always told me, was given him by Mr. Brass himself.”
“Yes to be sure,” said Kit eagerly. “You can bear me out in that sir?”
“Eh?” cried Brass, looking from face to face with an expression of stupid amazement.
“The money you know, the half-crowns, that you gave me—from the lodger,” said Kit.
“Oh dear me!” cried Brass, shaking his head and frowning heavily. “This is a bad case, I find; a very bad case indeed.”
“What, did you give him no money on account of anybody, sir?” asked Mr. Garland, with great anxiety.
“I give him money, sir!” returned Sampson. “Oh, come you know, this is too barefaced. Constable, my good fellow, we had better be going.”
“What!” shrieked Kit. “Does he deny that he did? ask him, somebody, pray. Ask him to tell you whether he did or not!”
“Did you, sir?” asked the
