right Now, Job, a word. Don't trifle with me* Fm not
in the mood. This man — this Abel Drake— has lost forty-
five pounds in bank notes while in Mrs. Giffard's cottage :
stolen, he says, from a secret pocket in his coat. Will you
see if by any chance the money has got into yoiwr pockets V*

Bsc. Sergeant {eagerly) : '' Shall I search him, your
honour V*

Job (Jailing on his knees) : '' Mercy ! Mercy ! Captin !
Aw didn't mean to steal it, aw didn't, indeed 1'' {Taking
the envelope from his pocket,) '' Here It is. All on it.''
{The Captain takes it,) "Aw nobbut wanted to — ^to *'

Capt. Lancelot Wolcombe : " Gratify your curiosity f
An expensive taste. Job. Sergeant !" {drawing him aside)
"I don*t wish to see this man prosecuted — family reasons
— but couldn't you— hem ?''

Beg. Seageant {considerably elated): "All right, your
honour ! Leave him to me."

Caft. Lancelot Wolcombe: "I shall be returning
presently." {He goes away,)

Beg. Se&geant {musing) : " Something's wrong with th'
Captain. He looks as though he didn't see, and listens as
though he couldn't hear. Well, that's his affair, not
mine 1" {He goes to Job^ and puts his hand through Job's
arm,) " Bad business, old fellow; I am ordered to arrest
you."

Job : " A — ^a — arrest me ! But yo won't ?"

Beg. Sergeant: '' Can't help it ! Had you been 'listed,
I might have done something. Too late now, I fear."

Job. '' 0, much too late ? Think o' summat else !"

Beg. Sebgeant {retreating a little, and surveying all
Job's bodily points with a critical eye) : " Well, if I were



GOING TO GLORY. 253



before a whole bench of magistrates, I'd say it's a burning
shame, gentlemen,^ to make a felon of a man like this !
with such a figure^ such limbs^ such mettle !''

Job : " Eigh !— Sergeant, th' owd tale !"

Beg. Sergeant: ''Well, you know your own tastes
best. I shouldn't like to be huddled up in a felon's dock
with all the scum of the earth. 