"
"Me a thief!" gasped Hobbs, roused to realities; "why, I've worked ever
since I was twelve, and me sixty-three now; I was never a thief, Sir. Look
at me hands."
The constable inspected them critically. "They're a bit horny certainly;
but then that may be only your dam artfulness. Come on and talk to the
Sergeant."
The Railway Police-Sergeant briskly inquired his name, address, occupation
and all the rest of it. Hobbs gave a good account of himself and mentioned
that he had worked in our family for forty-two years.
"Any visiting-cards, correspondence or other papers to identify you?" asked
the Sergeant mechanically. He had said it so often to the people who cry
"Season! Season!" when there is no Season.
Hobbs confessed to having none of these things; and no, he knew no one in
London.
"Then you'll stay here till four," pronounced the Sergeant, "and we'll see
if this good lady of yours comes along."
But, alas! no Mrs. Hobbs appeared. "Must have missed the train," suggested
Hobbs despairingly.
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