"And this is what you call well!" said Clifford, angrily. "No, Captain, don't be glimflashy! You have not heard all yet! It seems that the only thing buffed hard against them was by a stout grazier, who was cried 'Stand!' to, some fifty miles off the town; so the queer coffin thinks of sending the poor fellows to the jail of the county where they did the business!"
"Ah! that may leave some hopes for them! We must look sharp to their journey; if they once get to prison, their only chances are the file and the bribe. Unhappily, neither of them is so lucky as myself at that trade!"
"No, indeed, there is not a stone-wall in England that the great Captain
Lovett could not creep through, I'll swear!" said the admiring satellite.
"Saddle the horses and load the pistols! I will join you in ten minutes.
Have my farmer's dress ready, the false hair, etc. Choose your own trim.
Make haste; the Three Feathers is the house of meeting."
"And in ten minutes only, Captain?"
"Punctually!"
The stranger turned a corner and was out of sight. Clifford, muttering, "Yes, I was the cause of their apprehension; it was I who was sought; it is but fair that I should strike a blow for their escape before I attempt my own," continued his course till he came to the door of a public-house. The sign of a seaman swung aloft, portraying the jolly tar with a fine pewter pot in his hand, considerably huger than his own circumference. An immense pug sat at the door, lolling its tongue out, as if, having stuffed itself to the tongue, it was forced to turn that useful member out of its proper place. The shutters were half closed, but the sounds of coarse merriment issued jovially forth.
Clifford disconcerted the pug; and crossing the threshold, cried in aloud tone, "Janseen!"
"Here!" answered a gruff voice; and Clifford, passing on, came to a small parlour adjoining the tap. There, seated by a round oak table, he found mine host,—a red, fierce, weather-beaten, but bloated-looking personage, like Dick Hatteraick in a dropsy.
"How now, Captain!" cried he, in a gutteral accent, and interlarding his discourse with certain Dutch graces, which with our reader's leave we will omit, as being unable to spell them; "how now!—not gone yet!"