"That's right. Now you won't bounce up to the poor devil just like a wild elephant: remember that he's more or less in an interesting situation—as the ladies say. You'll rather glide behind him, and insinuate the cord between his arms, whispering at the same time, 'Beg pardon.' Mind and don't forget that; because we're under an obligation to him to some extent, as he's the means of putting money in our pocket, and we get the reversion of his clothes."
Here Gibbet cast a hasty but terrified glance towards his father's attire.
"Ah! I know what you're looking at, youngster," said Smithers, with a coarse laugh; "you want to see if I've got on my usual toggery? To be sure I have. I wear it as a compliment to the gentleman that we're to operate on this morning. This coat was the one that Pegsworth cut his last fling in: this waistcoat was Greenacre's; and these breeches was William Lees's. But go on—we mustn't waste time in this way."
Gibbet approached the puppet, and endeavoured to manipulate the string as his father instructed him; but his hand trembled so convulsively that he could not even pass it between the arms of the figure.
While he was still fumbling with the cord, and vainly endeavouring to master his emotions, the leathern thong descended with tremendous violence upon his back.
An appalling cry burst from the poor lad; but the executioner only showered down curses on his head.
At length Gibbet contrived, through fear of another blow, to pinion the figure in a manner satisfactory to his brutal parent.
"There!" exclaimed Smithers; "I shall make something of you at last. What virtue there must be in an old bit of leather: it seems to put the right spirit into you, at all events. Well, that's all you shall do this morning down at Newgate; and mind and do it as if the thong was hanging over your head—or it will be all the worse for you when we get home. Try and keep up the credit of your father's name, and show the Sheriffs and the Chaplain how you can truss their pigeon for them. They always take great notice—they do. Last time there was an execution, the Chaplain says to me, says he, 'Smithers, I don't think you had your hand nicely in this morning?'—'Don't you, sir?' says I.—'No,' says he; 'I've seen you do it more genteel than that.'—'Well, sir,' says I, 'I'll do my best to please you next time.'—'Ah! do, there's a good fellow, Smithers,' says the Chaplain; and off he goes to breakfast with the Sheriffs and governor, a-smacking his lips at the idea of the cold fowl and ham that he meant to pitch into. But I only mention that anecdote, to show you how close the authorities take notice—that's all. So mind and do your best, boy."
"Yes, father," returned Gibbet.