He went on with his song, accompanying it with the most ridiculous grimaces:
“When years were gone by, she began to rue
Her love for the gentleman, (meaning you!) ‘I slighted the journeyman fond,’ quoth she, ‘But where is my gallant of high degree? Where! where! Oh! where is my gallant of high degree?’ Ho! ho! ho!”
“What are you doing here!” demanded Thames.
“Oh! nothing at all,” answered Jack, sneeringly, “though this room’s as much mine as yours, for that matter. ‘But I don’t desire to spoil sport — not I. And, if you’ll give me such a smack of your sweet lips, Miss, as you’ve just given Thames, I’ll take myself off in less than no time.”
The answer to this request was a “smack” of a very different description, bestowed upon Sheppard’s outstretched face by the little damsel, as she ran out of the room.
“‘Odd’s! bodikins!” cried Jack, rubbing his cheek, “I’m in luck to-day. However, I’d rather have a blow from the daughter than the mother. I know who hits hardest. I tell you what, Thames,” he added, flinging himself carelessly into a chair, “I’d give my right hand — and that’s no light offer for a carpenter’s ‘prentice — if that little minx were half as fond of me as she is of you.”
“That’s not likely to be the case, if you go on in this way,” replied Thames, sharply.
“Why, what the devil would you have had me do! — make myself scarce, eh? You should have tipped me the wink.”
“No more of this,” rejoined Thames, “or we shall quarrel.”
“Who cares if we do?” retorted Sheppard, with a look of defiance.
“Jack,” said the other, sternly; “don’t provoke me further, or I’ll give you a thrashing.”
“Two can play at that game, my blood,” replied Sheppard, rising, and putting himself into a posture of defence.
“Take care of yourself, then,” rejoined Thames, doubling his fists, and advancing towards him: “though my right arm’s stiff, I can use it, as you’ll find.”
Sheppard was no match for his opponent, for, though he possessed more science, he was deficient in weight and strength; and, after a short round, in which he had decidedly the worst of it, a well-directed hit on the nob stretched him at full length on the floor.
“That’ll teach you to keep a civil tongue in your head for the future,” observed Thames, as he helped Jack to his feet.
“I didn’t mean to give offence,” replied Sheppard, sulkily. “But, let me tell you, it’s not a pleasant sight to see the girl one likes in the arms of another.”
“You want another drubbing, I perceive,” said Thames, frowning.
“No, I don’t. Enough’s as good as a feast of the dainties you provide. I’ll think no more about her. Save us!” he cried, as his glance accidentally alighted on the drawing, which Winifred had dropped in her agitation. “Is this her work?”
“It is,” answered Thames. “Do you see any likeness?”
“Don’t I,” returned Jack, bitterly. “Strange!” he continued, as if talking to himself. “How very like it is!”
“Not so strange, surely,” laughed Thames, “that a picture should resemble the person for whom it’s intended.”
“Ay, but it is strange how much it resembles somebody for whom it’s not intended. It’s exactly like a miniature I have in my pocket.”
“A miniature! Of whom?”
“That I can’t say,” replied Jack, mysteriously. “But, I half suspect, of your father.”
“My father!” exclaimed Thames, in the utmost astonishment; “let me see it!”
“Here it is,” returned Jack, producing a small picture in a case set with brilliants.
Thames took it, and beheld the portrait of a young man, apparently — judging from his attire — of high rank, whose proud and patrician features certainly presented a very striking resemblance to his own.
“You’re right Jack,” he said, after a pause, during which he contemplated the picture with the most fixed attention: “this must have been my father!”
“No doubt of it,” answered Sheppard; “only compare it with Winny’s drawing, and you’ll find they’re as like as two peas in a pod.”
“Where did you get it?” inquired Thames.
“From Lady Trafford’s, where I took the box.”
“Surely, you haven’t stolen it?”
“Stolen’s an awkward word. But, as you perceive, I brought it away with me.”
“It must be restored instantly — be the consequences what they may.”
“You’re not going to betray me!” cried Jack, in alarm.
“I am not,” replied Thames; “but I insist upon your taking it back at once.”
“Take it back yourself,” retorted Jack, sullenly. “I shall do no such thing.”
“Very well,” replied Thames, about to depart.
“Stop!” exclaimed Jack, planting himself before the door; “do you want to get me sent across the water?”
“I want to save you from disgrace and ruin,” returned Thames.
“Bah!” cried Jack, contemptuously; “nobody’s disgraced and ruined unless he’s found out. I’m safe enough if you hold your tongue. Give me that picture, or I’ll make you!”
“Hear me,” said Thames, calmly; “you well know you’re no match for me.”
“Not at fisticuffs, perhaps,” interrupted Jack, fiercely; “but I’ve my knife.”
“You daren’t use it.”
“Try to leave the room, and see whether I daren’t,” returned Jack, opening the blade.
“I didn’t expect this from you,” rejoined Thames, resolutely. “But your threats won’t prevent my leaving the room when I please, and as I please. Now, will you stand aside?”
“I won’t,” answered Jack, obstinately.
Thames said not another word, but marched boldly towards him, and seized him by the collar.
“Leave go!” cried Jack, struggling violently, and raising his hand, “or I’ll maul you for life.”
But Thames was not to be deterred from his purpose; and the strife might have terminated seriously, if a peace-maker had not appeared in the shape of little Winifred, who, alarmed by the
