Don O’Rapley expresses his views of the policy of the legislature in not permitting dominoes to be played in public houses.

When Mr. Bumpkin returned to the cosy parlour, his face was red and his teeth were set. He was so much agitated indeed, that instead of addressing Mr. O’Rapley, he spoke to Mrs. Oldtimes, as though in her female tenderness he might find a more sincere and sympathetic adviser.

Mr. Bumpkin was never what you would call an eloquent or fluent speaker: his Somersetshire brogue was at times difficult of comprehension. He certainly was not fluent when he said to Mrs. Oldtimes: “Why thic—there—damn un Mrs. Oldtimes if he beant gwine and never zeed zich a thing in my bornd days—”

“Why what ever in the name of goodness gracious is the matter?” asked the landlady.

“Why thic there head witness o’ mine: a silly-brained—Gor forgive me that iver I should spake so o’ un, for he wor allays a good chap; and I do b’leeve he’ve got moore sense than do any thing o’ that kind.”

“What’s the matter? what’s the matter?” again enquired Mrs. Oldtimes.

“Why he be playin’ dominoes wi thic Sergeant.”

“O,” said the landlady, “I was afraid something had happened. We’re not allowed to know anything about dominoes or card-playing in our house—the Law forbids our knowing it, Mr. Bumpkin; so, if you please, we will not talk about it—I wish to conduct my house as it always has been for the last five-and-twenty years, in peace and quietness and respectability, Mr. Bumpkin, which nobody can never say to the contrairy. It was only the last licensing day Mr. Twiddletwaddle, the chairman of the Bench, said as it were the best conducted house in Westminster.”

Now whether it was that the report of this domino playing was made in the presence of so high a dignitary of the law as Mr. O’Rapley, or from any other cause, I cannot say, but Mrs. Oldtimes was really indignant, and positively refused to accept any statement which involved the character of her establishment.

“I think,” she continued, addressing Mr. O’Rapley, “you have known this house for some time, sir.”

“I have,” said O’Rapley. “I have passed it every evening for the last ten years.”

“Ah now, to be sure—you hear that, Mr. Bumpkin. What do you think of that?”

“Never saw anything wrong, I will say that.”

“Never a game in my house, if I knows it; and what’s more, I won’t believe it until I sees it.”

“Ockelar demonstration, that’s the law,” said the Don.

Mr. Bumpkin’s excitement was absolutely merged in that of the landlady, whom he had so innocently provoked. He stared as the parties continued their wordy justification of this well-ruled household like one dreaming with his eyes open. No woman could have made more ado about her own character than Mrs. Oldtimes did respecting that of her house. But then, the one could be estimated in money, while the other possessed but an abstract value.

“I believe,” she repeated, “that cards or dominoes has never been played in my house since here I’ve been, or since the law has been what it is.”

“I be wery sorry,” said the penitent Bumpkin; “I warn’t aweare I wur doing anythin’ wrong.”

“It’s unlawful, you see, to play,” said the Don; “and consequently they dursn’t play. Now, why is it unlawful? Because Public Houses is for drinking, not for amusement. Now, sir, Drink is the largest tax-payer we’ve got—therefore Drink’s an important Industry. Set people to work drinking and you get a good Rewenue, which keeps up the Army and Navy—the Navy swims in liquor, sir—but let these here Perducers of the Rewenue pause for the sake o’ playing dominoes, or what not, and what’s the consequence? You check this important industry—therefore don’t by any manner of means interrupt drinking. It’s an agreeable ockepation and a paying one.”

“Well done, sir,” said Oldtimes, from the corner of the fireplace, where he was doing his best with only one mouth and one constitution to keep up the Army and Navy. A patriotic man was Oldtimes.

“Drink,” continued O’Rapley, “is the most powerful horgsilery the Government has.”

“Ah!” said Mr. Bumpkin, not knowing what a horgsilery was; “now thee’ve gone a-head o’ me, sir. Thee’re a larned man, Mr. O’Rapley, and I beant much of a schollard; will thee please to tell I what a horgs—what wur it?”

“Horgsilery,” said Mr. O’Rapley.

“Horsgilly—ah! so twur. Well, by thy leave, worthy sir, will thee be so kind as to tell I be it anything like a hogshead?”

“Well,” said Mr. O’Rapley, “its more like a corkscrew: the taxes of the country would be bottled up as tight as champagne and you couldn’t get ’em out without this corkscrew.”

“But I worn’t spakin’ about taxes when I spak of dominoes; what I wur alludin’ to wur thic Joe been drawed in to goo for a soger.”

“Lor, bless you,” said Mrs. Oldtimes, “many a man as good as Joe have listed before now and will again.”

“Mayhap,” said Bumpkin; “but he wurn’t my ’ead witness and didn’t work for I. Joe be my right hand man, although I keeps un down and tells un he beant fit for nothin’.”

“Ha,” said the Don, “he’s not likely to go for a soldier, I think, if it’s that good-looking young chap I saw with the kicking-straps on.”

“Kickin’-straps,” said Bumpkin; “haw! haw! haw! That be a good un. Well he told I he wur up to un and I think ur be: he’ll be a clever feller if ur gets our Joe. Why Nancy ud goo amost out o’ her mind. And now, sir, will thee ’ave any moore?”

Mr. O’Rapley, in the most decisive but polite manner, refused. He had quite gone out of his way as it was in the hope of serving Mr. Bumpkin. He was sure that the thief would be convicted, and as he rose to depart seized his friend’s hand in the most affectionate manner. Anything he could do for him he was sure he would do cheerfully, at any amount of self-sacrifice—he would get up in the night to serve him.

“Thankee,” said Bumpkin; but he had hardly spoken when he was startled by the most uproarious cheers from the taproom. And then he began again about the folly of young men getting into the company of recruiting sergeants.

“Look here,” said the Don, confidentially, “take my advice—say nothing—a still tongue makes a wise head; to persuade a man not to enter the army is tantamount to advising him to desert. If you don’t mind, you may lay yourself open to a prosecution.”

“Zounds!” exclaimed Mr. Bumpkin, “it seem to me a man in Lunnon be every minit liable to a prosecution for zummat. I hope sayin’ that beant contempt o’ Coourt, sir.”

Mr. O’Rapley was silent—his head drooped towards Mr. Bumpkin in a semi-conscious manner, and he nodded three consecutive times: called for another “seroot,” lit it after many efforts, and again assuring Mr. Bumpkin that he would do all he could towards facilitating his triumph over Snooks, was about to depart, when his friend asked him, confidentially, whether he had not better be at the Old Bailey when the trial came on, in case of its being necessary to call him.

“Shurel not!” hiccupped the Don. Then he pointed his finger, and leering at Bumpkin, repeated, “Shurel not;—jus swell cll Ch. Jussiself”—which being interpreted meant, “Certainly not, you might just as well call the Chief Justice himself.”

“Pr’aps he’ll try un?” said Bumpkin.

“Noer won’t—noer won’t: Chansy Juge mos likel Massr Rolls.”