Shrig chuckled softly, checked himself suddenly, and shook
his placid head. "But life ain't all lavender, sir,--not by no
manner o' means, it ain't," said he dolefully. "Things is werry
slack vith me,--nothing in the murder line this veek, and only vun
sooicide, a couple o' 'ighvay robberies, and a 'sault and battery!
You can scrag me if I know v'ot things is coming to. And then, to
make it vorse, I 've jest 'ad a loss as vell."
"I'm sorry for that, Mr. Shrig, but--"
"A loss, sir, as I shan't get over in a 'urry. You'll remember
V'istlin' Dick, p'r'aps,--the leary, flash cove as you give such a
leveller to, the first time as ever I clapped my day-lights on ye?"
"Yes, I remember him."
"Veil sir,' e's been and took, and gone, and got 'isself kicked to
death by an 'orse!"
"Eh,--a horse?" exclaimed Barnabas, starting.
"An 'orse, sir, yes. Vich I means to say is coming it a bit low down
on _me_, sir,--sich conduct ain't 'ardly fair, for V'istlin' Dick
vos a werry promising cove as Capitals go. And now to see 'im cut
off afore 'is time, and in such a outrageous, onnat'ral manner,
touches me up, Mr. Barty, sir,--touches me up werry sharp it do! For
arter all, a nice, strong gibbet vith a good long drop is qvicker,
neater, and much more pleasant than an 'orse's 'oof,--now ain't it?
Still," said Mr.
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