“The hangman!”
All shrunk from the man as he announced his calling; and for a minute or two a ghastly sallow paleness came over Britton’s face.
“Very well, gentleman,” said the hangman, “if you don’t like my song, you needn’t have the remainder of it I, am sure.”
Britton rose from his seat in a menacing attitude as he said,—
“Now, may I be smashed if ever I met with such assurance in all my life. You horrid—you infernal—”
“My good fellow, don’t put yourself in a passion,” said the hangman. “I’ve come all the way from Smithfield to see you.”
“See me?”
“Yes. I heard of you, and I came to take your weight in my eye—you understand. It will require a good piece of hemp to hold you up. You are bony, and that always weighs heavy. Good night—I’ll drop in again some evening.”
With these words the functionary of the law was off before Britton could make a rush at him, which he was just recovering sufficiently from his surprise to enable him to do.
As it was, when he found the hangman had fairly escaped him, he looked round him like some wild animal just turned out of a cage, and glaring about to seek for some enemy upon whom to wreak his pent-up vengeance.