the cloth was laid, the host and Thames descended to the cellar, whence they returned, laden with a number of flasks of the same form, and apparently destined to the same use as those depicted in Hogarth’s delectable print — the Modern Midnight Conversation.
Mrs. Wood now re-appeared with a very red face; and, followed by Winifred, took her seat at the table. Operations then commenced. Mr. Wood carved the ducks; Mr. Kneebone helped to the pigeon-pie; while Thames unwired and uncorked a bottle of stout Carnarvonshire ale. The woollen-draper was no despicable trencherman in a general way; but his feats with the knife and fork were child’s sport compared with those of Mr. Smith. The leg and wing of a duck were disposed of by this gentleman in a twinkling; a brace of pigeons and a pound of steak followed with equal celerity; and he had just begun to make a fierce assault upon the eggs and ham. His appetite was perfectly Gargantuan. Nor must it be imagined, that while he thus exercised his teeth, he neglected the flagon. On the contrary, his glass was never idle, and finding it not filled quite so frequently as he desired, he applied himself, notwithstanding the expressive looks and muttered remonstrances of Mr. Jackson, to the swig. The latter gentleman did full justice to the good things before him; but he drank sparingly, and was visibly annoyed by his companion’s intemperance. As to Mr. Kneebone, what with flirting with Mrs. Wood, carving for his friends, and pledging the carpenter, he had his hands full. At this juncture, and just as a cuckoo-clock in the corner struck sis, Jack Sheppard walked into the room, with the packing-case under his arm.
“I was in the right, you see, father,” observed Thames, smiling; “Jack has done his task.”
“So I perceive,” replied Wood.
“Where am I to take it to?” asked Sheppard.
“I told you that before,” rejoined Wood, testily. “You must take it to Sir Rowland Trenchard’s in Southampton Fields. And, mind, it’s for his sister, Lady Trafford.”
“Very well, Sir,” replied Sheppard.
“Wet your whistle before you start, Jack,” said Kneebone, pouring out a glass of ale. “What’s that you’re taking to Sir Rowland Trenchard’s?”
“Only a box, Sir,” answered Sheppard, emptying the glass.
“It’s an odd-shaped one,” rejoined Kneebone, examining it attentively. “But I can guess what it’s for. Sir Rowland is one of us,” he added, winking at his companions, “and so was his brother-in-law, Sir Cecil Trafford. Old Lancashire families both. Strict Catholics, and loyal to the backbone. Fine woman, Lady Trafford — a little on the wane though.”
“Ah! you’re so very particular,” sighed Mrs. Wood.
“Not in the least,” returned Kneebone, slyly, “not in the least. Another glass, Jack.”
“Thank’ee, Sir,” grinned Sheppard.
“Off with it to the health of King James the Third, and confusion to his enemies!”
“Hold!” interposed Wood; “that is treason. I’ll have no such toast drunk at my table!”
“It’s the king’s birthday,” urged the woollen draper.
“Not my king’s,” returned Wood. “I quarrel with no man’s political opinions, but I will have my own respected!”
“Eh day!” exclaimed Mrs. Wood; “here’s a pretty to-do about nothing. Marry, come up! I’ll see who’s to be obeyed. Drink the toast, Jack.”
“At your peril, sirrah!” cried Wood.
“He was hanged that left his drink behind, you know, master,” rejoined Sheppard. “Here’s King James the Third, and confusion to his enemies!”
“Very well,” said the carpenter, sitting down amid the laughter of the company.
“Jack!” cried Thames, in a loud voice, “you deserve to be hanged for a rebel as you are to your lawful king and your lawful master. But since we must have toasts,” he added, snatching up a glass, “listen to mine: Here’s King George the First! a long reign to him! and confusion to the Popish Pretender and his adherents!”
“Bravely done!” said Wood, with tears in his eyes.
“That’s the kinchin as was to try the dub for us, ain’t it?” muttered Smith to his companion as he stole a glance at Jack Sheppard.
“Silence!” returned Jackson, in a deep whisper; “and don’t muddle your brains with any more of that Pharaoh. You’ll need all your strength to grab him.”
“What’s the matter?” remarked Kneebone, addressing Sheppard, who, as he caught the single but piercing eye of Jackson fixed upon him, started and trembled.
“What’s the matter?” repeated Mrs. Wood in a sharp tone.
“Ay, what’s the matter, boy!” reiterated Jackson sternly. “Did you never see two gentlemen with only a couple of peepers between them before!”
“Never, I’ll be sworn!” said Smith, taking the opportunity of filling his glass while his comrade’s back was turned; “we’re a nat’ral cur’osity.”
“Can I have a word with you, master?” said Sheppard, approaching Wood.
“Not a syllable!” answered the carpenter, angrily. “Get about your business!”
“Thames!” cried Jack, beckoning to his friend.
But Darrell averted his head.
“Mistress!” said the apprentice, making a final appeal to Mrs. Wood.
“Leave the room instantly, sirrah!” rejoined the lady, bouncing up, and giving him a slap on the cheek that made his eyes flash fire.
“May I be cursed,” muttered Jack Sheppard, “if ever I try to be honest again.”
“May I be cursed,” muttered Sheppard, as he slunk away with (as the woollen-draper pleasantly observed) ‘a couple of boxes in charge,’ “if ever I try to be honest again!”
“Take a little toasted cheese with the swig, Mr. Smith,” observed Wood. “That’s an incorrigible rascal,” he added, as Sheppard closed the door; “it’s only to-day that I discovered —”
“What?” asked Jackson, pricking up his ears.
“Don’t speak ill of him behind his back, father,” interposed Thames.
“If I were your father, young gentleman,” returned Jackson, enraged at the interruption, “I’d teach you not to speak till you were spoken to.”
Thames was about to reply, but a glance from Wood checked him.
“The rebuke is just,” said the carpenter; “at the same time, I’m not sorry to find you’re a friend to fair play, which, as you seem to know, is a jewel. Open that bottle with a blue seal, my dear. Gentlemen! a glass of brandy will be
