But the Sargeant here says he wants proofs, and
you, Sir, must vouch for me as being respectable, which you know I am, and
none of us was ever thieves. So will you please do so, Sir, and oblige, as
this leaves me at present, George Hobbs."
The clerk glanced at it. "It's a long message," he said; "it'll cost four
or five shillings."
Hobbs hadn't got that--no, really he hadn't.
The constable standing on guard, rather bored, interposed, "We ain't asking
you to write a book about it."
"No, Sir, I couldn't do that," replied Hobbs anxiously. "What would you
say, Sir, if you was me?"
"Don't ask me," answered the policeman. "It's your wire, not mine. Send
something you can pay for. We only wants to find out if you're the person
you say you are. Daresay you'd like me to write it for you, and you 'op it
while I done it. I seen your kind before. Try again, mate."
So Hobbs tried again. And that is how it came about that at tea-time a
telegraph-boy brought me the bewildering message: "Mr. Lockwood, The Nook,
Monk's Langford.
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