man class with a filcher of fogles.[1] But, dammee if I don't think misfortune levels us all quite enough: and misfortune brings me here, little Dummie!"
"Ah! you vants to keep out of the vay of the bulkies!"
"Right. Since poor Lovett was laid by the heels, which I must say was the fault of his own deuced gentlemanlike behaviour to me and Augustus (you've heard of Guz, you say), the knot of us seems quite broken. One's own friends look inclined to play one false; and really, the queer cuffins hover so sharply upon us, that I thought it safe to duck for a time. So I have taken a lodging in a cellar, and I intend for the next three months to board at the 'Mug.' I have heard that I may be sure of lying snug here:—Dummie, your health! Give us the baccy!"
"I say, Meester Pepper," said Dummie, clearing his throat, when he had obeyed the request, "can you tell I, if so be you as met in your travels our little Paul? Poor chap! You
- ↑ Pickpocket.
