The lad took the money and, pushing through the crowd of loungers, passed the door, and went down the outside stairs at a rattling pace, the sound of which filled the heart of the waiting prisoner with envy.
Jack looked about him, nibbling his dry biscuit and butter, and saw that there was only one other door in the room, and that it was nailed, with a bar across it. There were three windows, one on the side of the street near the entry door, the other two overlooking the canal. He was still nibbling and studying the premises, when the lad returned.
“I hope this ain’t canal milk,” said Jack with a laugh, as he pocketed the change and took the cup, after giving the lad his penny. “They sell horrid stuff to the boats sometimes,—mostly chalk and canal-water, I believe.” He poised the cup, still munching the dry biscuit, and glanced furtively at the door. The loungers had not yet begun to leave, and there was a crowd in the way.
Sellick was saying to a village acquaintance, “I never yit lost a prisoner, and I never expect to lose one; and I never yit was afraid to take a man. Not one in fifty can run as fast as I can, and once I git holt of a chap, I jest freeze to him; ’t would take a perty good set of muscles to shake me off, and a mighty long head to outwit me.—Come, sonny, drink yer milk; judge is shaking the sand on his paper.”
Jack lifted the cup to his lips, and began to drink, but stopped suddenly, and, with his mouth full and his cheeks distended, made sounds and motions of distress, as if about to eject the liquid.
“Sour?” cried Sellick.
“’M! ’m!” said Jack, through his nose; and with milk spilling from the cup and spirting from his lips, he started for a window; while the crowd, laughing at his ludicrous plight, and anxious to avoid a sprinkling, made way before him.
It was the window on the side of the street, and it was closed. While Sellick, laughing with the rest, was stepping quickly to help him open it, Jack, beginning to choke, and appearing quite unable to control himself longer, started for the door. The mirthful constable—who had never yet lost a prisoner and never expected to lose one—turned to follow him, rather leisurely, pausing to laugh at Mr. Byron Dinks, who had received some conspicuous splashes of milk on his black broadcloth.
Jack took hold of the door, as if to steady himself, then, in an instant, darting through, pulled it after him (just missing Sellick’s fingers), turned the key on the outside, went down the stairway with flying leaps, and ran as for his life; leaving court, constable, witnesses, and spectators locked up in the room together, prisoners in his place, with abundant leisure to find something to laugh at besides him and his spilled milk!