u treated somebody. Now, was that somebody brother to the prisoner
at the bar?'--Mr Swiveller is proceeding to explain--'Yes or No, sir,'
cries Mr Brass's gentleman--'But will you allow me--'--'Yes or No,
sir'--'Yes it was, but--'--'Yes it was,' cries the gentleman, taking
him up short. 'And a very pretty witness YOU are!'

Down sits Mr Brass's gentleman. Kit's gentleman, not knowing how the
matter really stands, is afraid to pursue the subject. Richard
Swiveller retires abashed. Judge, jury and spectators have visions of
his lounging about, with an ill-looking, large-whiskered, dissolute
young fellow of six feet high. The reality is, little Jacob, with the
calves of his legs exposed to the open air, and himself tied up in a
shawl. Nobody knows the truth; everybody believes a falsehood; and all
because of the ingenuity of Mr Brass's gentleman.

Then come the witnesses to character, and here Mr Brass's gentleman
shines again. It turns out that Mr Garland has had no character with
Kit, no recommendation of him but from his own mother, and that he was
suddenly dismissed by his former master for unknown reasons. 'Really
Mr Garland,' says Mr Brass's gentleman, 'for a person who has arrived
at your time of life, you are, to say the least of it, singularly
indiscreet, I think.' The jury think so too, and find Kit guilty. He
is taken off, humbly protesting his innocence. The spectators settle
themselves in their places with renewed attention, for there are
several female witnesses to be examined in the next case, and it has
been rumoured that Mr Brass's gentleman will make great fun in
cross-examining them for the prisoner.

Kit's mother, poor woman, is waiting at the grate below stairs,
accompanied by Barbara's mother (who, honest soul! never does anything
but cry, and hold the baby), and a sad interview ensues. The
newspaper-reading turnkey has told them all. He don't think it will be
transportation for life, because there's time to prove the good
character yet, and that is sure to serve him. He wonders what he did
it for. 'He never did it!' cries Kit's mother. 'Well,' says the
turnkey, 'I won't contradict you. It's all one, now, whether he did it
or not.'

Kit's mother can reach his hand through the bars, and she clasps it--
God, and those to whom he has given such tenderness, only know in how
much agony. Kit bids her keep a good heart, and, under pretence of
having the children lifted up to kiss him,