A needy neighbour, like himself a tradesman, Plunkett by name, who had failed as a chemist, was induced by this hopeful widower to act a part as his footman, and together they frequented places of fashionable assemblage, both in London and at Tunbridge Wells, on the look-out for heiresses. But the game was shy, and meanwhile the small capital of £85 was fast melting away. Fine clothes were ten times more expensive in that age than the finest clothes of to-day, and although it was possible to obtain a good deal on credit, it was not at all workable to visit Vauxhall and such expensive places, and to cut a dash there, for any considerable time on so inconsiderable a capital.
It was Plunkett who at this stage of affairs, when their funds were nearly exhausted, suggested the road as a place where money might usually be had for the asking.
"A brave man," said Plunkett, "cannot want. He has a right to live, and need not want the conveniences of life. While the dull, plodding, busy knaves carry cash in their pockets, we must draw upon them to supply our wants. Only impudence is necessary, and the getting better of a few idle scruples. Courage is scarcely necessary, for all we have to deal with are mere poltroons." But when poltroon meets poltroon, when the timid traveller, ready to hand over his purse on demand, cannot do so because the coward highwayman dare not reach out and take it, what happens? It is an embarrassing moment, whose fortunes are (or were) determined only by chance.
Plunkett did not know the manner of man he had to deal with until they had taken the road together. He had always seemed a bold, swaggering fellow, and big enough in all conscience; but when it came to highway robbery he was a helpless companion.
Their first affair was with a grazier, going home from Smithfield with the proceeds of his day's business in his pocket. Plunkett, suddenly enlightened as to Maclaine's want of nerve, took the conduct of the incident firmly in hand at once, or the results might have been disastrous for both. He took £60 from the grazier, while Maclaine looked on and spoke no word, inwardly in greater fear than he, and ready, had there been any sign of resistance, to fly.
Their next attempt was to stop and rob a coach on the St. Albans road.
It was agreed that Maclaine should stop the coachman and present his pistol on one side, while Plunkett did the same on the other. But although he rode up several times, intending to challenge the Jehu with the traditional cry of the bold and fearless fellows who did the like every night, his heart failed him; so Plunkett had to carry it off as best he could, while Maclaine sat shivering with cowardice in the background, in spite of the "Venetian mask" that covered the upper part of his face and concealed his identity sufficiently well.
But Plunkett, as may have been already gathered, was a man with sufficient resolution for two, and although Maclaine was quaking with terror on every occasion, he brought him in some fashion up to the scratch in a long series of robberies. They frequently hired or stabled horses at Hyde Park Corner, and thence rode out for a day and a night upon Hounslow Heath, or elsewhere.
"In all this while," we learn, he scarcely ever thought of his daughters, "and seldom visited his mother-in-law." O villain!
When in town, he had lodgings on the first floor over a shop in St. James's Street, and presented a gorgeous figure to morning callers. He was even more gorgeous in the evening, when he frequented places of public entertainment, and obtained the freedom of some fashionable houses. But the morning picture he presented will probably suffice. He then wore a crimson damask banjan, a silk shag waistcoat turned with lace, black velvet breeches, white silk stockings, and yellow morocco slippers.