Galloping Dick
him.” With that, out pops the Justice, and soon after comes me in again with Timothy Grubbe, sure enough, on his heels.
“Perhaps,” says he, “you will repeat your statement afore this gentleman.”
I could scarce keep from roaring with laughter, to see Timothy’s white face chapfall so suddenly at me sitting there confidential.
“Yes, that is the fellow,” I said; “I’d know him among a hundred by his ugly neck.”
“Do you know who he is?” asked the Justice.
“Well,” said I dubiously, “as like as not, he would be that same black ruffian, Dick Ryder.”
“I’ve heard of him, I’ve heard of him,” says the Justice, rubbing his hands again.
But Timothy Grubbe was no fool, as I knew very well, and though he had started at the first, and had worn a frown of embarrassment upon his face throughout this colloquy, he was contained enough now when he addressed his worship.
“Mr Justice,” says he sharply, “I have no notion what sort of figure you play in this
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