"Wot's Jerry a-sayin' of, sir?" he questioned.
"Praying, I believe."
"More like cursing. Jerry's a-flamming o' ye, young sir. An' the punch
is ready at last." So while the storm raged outside, we sat down at
the table beside the hearth where glasses were filled from a great
bowl of steaming brew and forthwith emptied to my very good health.
And now to the accompaniment of howling wind and lashing rain, the Bow
Street officers recounted the history of Galloping Jerry's capture.
"'T were this evenin' as ever was just about dark, on the 'ill yonder.
About 'arf way up there's a biggish tree, an' we was a-layin' for 'im
there, Jimmy an' me, wi' our barkers ready, 'avin' been given the
office. Presently we 'ears the sound o' hoofs an' down 'ill easy-like
comes a mounted cove. It's 'im!' says I. 'Sure?' says Jimmy. 'Sartin,'
says I, 'I knows 'im by 'is 'at!' 'Werry good!' says Jimmy, an' lets
fly an' down comes the 'oss 'eadfirst, squealin' like a stuck pig, an'
away down 'ill shoots Jerry, rollin' over an' over, an' then we was on
'im wi' our truncheons an' we give 'im wot for--eh, Jimmy?"
"Ar!" quoth Jimmy. "We did!"
"And a werry pretty little job it were--eh, Jimmy?"
"Ar!" quoth Jimmy. "It were!"
"Considerin' 'im such a werry desp'rit cove an' all--an' a pair o'
popps in 'is 'olsters as long as your arm--they're in the pockets o'
my greatcoat yonder--you can see 'em stickin' out. Yes, a sweet,
pretty bit o' work as ever we done, eh, Jimmy?"
"Ar--though 'e floored you once.
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