He was not then in fair condition. He
was limp, he was dirty, hollow in the cheeks, white, stiff in his
limbs, and half-naked-- (to be regardless of gender)--
"Pallidula, rigida, nudula."
"Hum!" said Mr. Stink, who was a dog-breeder--"What's his
pedigree?"
This brutal joke was well received by some of the Guardians.
"His pedigree," answered the half-wit, gravely, "goes back for
three hundred years. Parients unknown by name, but got by Misery
out o' Starvashun. The line began with Poverty out o' Laziness
in Queen Elizabeth's time. The breed has been a large 'un
wotever you thinks of the quality."
This pleasantry was less acceptable to the Board.
"Well," said Mr. Scoop, grocer, a great stickler for
parliamentary modes of procedure, "I move it be committed. "
"Committed! Where?" said Mr. Stink.
"To Newgate I s'pose," said the half-wit, his eyes twinkling.
"Nonsense, sir,--for consideration. Send that man out,"
exclaimed Scoop--"clear the room for consultation."
Davus was expelled, and the baby was then formally consigned to
the care of a committee. By this time the legal adviser came in.
The facts having been stated to him, he said:
"Gentlemen, as at present advised I am of opinion that the parish
in which the child was found is bound to maintain him.
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