Your health, Mr.
Thorneycroft," he added, filling a goblet from one of the bottles. "My
service to you, gents. Famous tipple, by Jove!" drawing a long breath
after the draught, and smacking his lips with amazing satisfaction. "Never tasted sich a glass o' wine in all my born days," he continued,
replenishing the goblet: "I wonder wot it's called?" "Prussic acid," replied Mr. Thorneycroft gruffly. "Proossic fiddlestick!" cried Ginger; "more likely Tokay. I shall finish
the bottle, and never be the vorse for it!" "He's gettin' svipy," said the Tinker. "I vonder vether it's really
Tokay?" "No such thing," cried Thorneycroft; "let him alone." "I must taste it," said the Tinker, unable to resist the temptation. "Here, give us a glass, Ginger!" "Vith pleasure," replied Ginger, filling a goblet to the brim, and
handing it to him. "You'd better be perwailed upon, Sandy." "Vell, I s'pose I must," replied the Sandman, taking the goblet
proffered him. "Here's the beaks' healths!" cried Ginger. "I gives that toast 'cos
they're alvays so kind to us dog-fanciers." "Dog-fanciers--say, rather, dog-stealers; for that's the name such
vagabonds deserve to be known by," said Mr. Thorneycroft with some
asperity. "Vell, ve von't quarrel about names," replied Ginger, laughing, "but
I'll relate a circumstance to you as'll prove that wotever your opinion
of our wocation may be, the beaks upholds it." "There can be but one opinion as to your nefarious profession," said Mr.
Thorneycroft, "and that is, that it's as bad as horse-stealing and
sheep-stealing, and should be punished as those offences are punished." "So I think, sir," said Ginger, winking at the others; "but to my story,
and don't interrupt me, or I can't get through vith it properly. There's
a gent livin' not a hundred miles from Pall Mall, as the noospapers
says, as had a favourite Scotch terrier, not worth more nor half-a-crown
to any one but hisself, but highly wallerable to him, 'cos it wos a
favourite. Vell, the dog is lost. A pal of mine gets hold on it, and the
gent soon offers a reward for its recovery. This don't bring it back
quite so soon as he expects, 'cos he don't offer enough; so he goes to
an agent, Mr. Simpkins, in the Edger Road, and Mr. Simpkins says to
him--says he, 'How are you, sir? I expected you some days ago. You've
com'd about that ere Scotch terrier. You've got a wallable greyhound, I
understand. A man told me he'd have that afore long.' Seein' the gent
stare, Mr. S. adds, 'Vel, I'll tell you wot you must give for your dog. The party von't take less than six guineas. He knows it ain't vorth six
shillin', but it's a great favourite, and has given him a precious sight
o' trouble in gettin' it.' 'Give _him_ trouble!' cries the gent
angrily--'and what has it given me? I hope to see the rascal hanged! I
shall pay no such money.' 'Werry vell,' replies Mr. Simpkins coolly,
'then your dog'll be bled to death, as the nobleman's wos, and thrown
down a breathless carkis afore your door.'" "You don't mean to say that such a horrid circumstance as that really
took place?" cried Thorneycroft, who was much interested in the
relation. "Only t'other day, I assure you," replied Ginger. "I'd shoot the ruffian who treated a dog of mine so, if I caught him!" cried Mr. Thorneycroft indignantly. "And sarve him right, too," said Ginger. "I discourages all cruelty to
hanimals. But don't interrupt me again. Arter a bit more chafferin' vith
Mr. Simpkins, the gent offers three pound for his dog, and then goes
avay. Next day he reads a report i' the _Times_ noospaper that a man has
been taken up for dog-stealin', and that a lot o' dogs is shut up in the
green-yard behind the police-office in Bow Street. So he goes there in
search o' his favourite, and sure enough he finds it, but the inspector
von't give it up to him, 'cos the superintendent is out o' the vay." "Shameful!" cried Mr. Thorneycroft. "Shameful, indeed, sir," echoed Ginger, laughing. "Thinkin' his dog safe
enough in the hands o' the police, the gent sleeps soundly that night,
but ven he goes back next mornin' he finds it has disappeared. The
green-yard has been broken into overnight, and all the dogs stolen from
it." "Under the noses of the police?" cried Thorneycroft. "Under their werry noses," replied Ginger. "But now comes the cream o'
the jest. You shall hear wot the beak says to him ven the gent craves
his assistance. 'I can't interfere in the matter,' says he, a-bendin' of
his brows in a majestic manner. 'Parties don't ought to come here vith
complaints of vhich I can't take notice. This place ain't an advertisin'
office, and I sha'n't suffer it to be made von. I von't listen to
statements affectin' the characters of absent parties.' Statements
affectin' _our_ characters,--do you tvig that, sir?" "I do, indeed," said Thorneycroft, sighing; "and I am sorry to think
such a remark should have dropped from the bench." "You're right to say dropped from it, sir," laughed Ginger. "I told you
the beaks vos our best friends; they alvays takes our parts. Ven the
gent urges that it was a subject of ser'ous importance to all
dog-owners, the magistrit angrily interrupts him, sayin'--'Then let
there be a meetin' of dog-owners to discuss their grievances. Don't come
to me. I can't help you.' And he vouldn't if he could, 'cos he's the
dog-fancier's friend." "It looks like it, I must own," replied Thorneycroft. "Such
reprehensible indifference gives encouragement to people of your
profession. Government itself is to blame. As all persons who keep dogs
pay a tax for them, their property ought to be protected." "I'm quite satisfied vith the present state of the law," said Ginger;
"here's the vorthy beak! I'll drink his health a second time." "Halloa! wot's that?" cried the Tinker; "I thought I heerd a noise." "So did I," rejoined the Sandman; "a strange sort o' rumblin' sound
overhead." "There it goes again!" cried Ginger; "wot an awful din!" "Now it's underneath," said Mr. Thorneycroft, turning pale, and
trembling. "It sounds as if some hidden machinery were at work." The noise, which up to this moment had borne an indistinct resemblance
to the creaking of wheels and pulleys, now increased to a violent
clatter, while the house was shaken as if by the explosion of a mine
beneath it. At the same time, the occupants of the chairs received a sharp
electrical shock, that agitated every limb, and caused Mr. Thorneycroft
to let fall his pistol, which went off as it reached the ground. At the
same time, the Sandman dropped his goblet, and the Tinker relinquished
his grasp of the cutlass. Before they could recover from the shock, all
three were caught by stout wooden hooks, which, detaching themselves
from the back of the chairs, pinioned their arms, while their legs were
restrained by fetters, which sprang from the ground and clasped round
their ankles. Thus fixed, they struggled vainly to get free. The chairs
seemed nailed to the ground, so that all efforts to move them proved
futile.