"Don't mind Jeremy," winked the other; "it's just 'is per-werseness. Lord! 'e is the per-wersest codger you ever see! Why, 'e finds fault wi' the Pope o' Rome, jest because 'e's in the 'abit o' lettin' coves kiss 'is toe—I've 'eard Jeremy work 'isself up over the Pope an' a pint o' porter, till you'd 'ave thought—"
"Ain't we never a-goin' to start?" inquired Jeremy, staring out of the window, with his back to us.
"And where," said I, "where might you be taking me?"
"Why, since you ax, my covey, we 'm a-takin' you where you'll be took good care on, where you'll feed well, and 'ave justice done on you—trust us for that. Though, to be sure, I'm sorry to take you from such proper quarters as these 'ere—nice and airy—eh, Jeremy?"
"Ah!—an' wi' a fine view o' the graves!" growled Jeremy, leading the way out.
In the street stood a chaise and four, surrounded by a pushing, jostling throng of men, women, and children, who, catching sight of me between the Bow Street Runners, forgot to push and jostle, and stared at me with every eye and tooth they possessed, until I was hidden in the chaise.
"Right away!" growled Jeremy, shutting the door with a bang.
"Whoa!" roared a voice, and a great, shaggy golden head was thrust in at the window, and a hand reached down and grasped mine.
"A pipe an' 'baccy, Peter—from me; a flask o' rum—Simon's best, from Simon; an' chicken sang-widges, from my Prue." This as he passed in each article through the window. "An' I were to say, Peter, as we are all wi' you—ever an' ever, an' I were likewise to tell 'ee as 'ow Prue'll pray for 'ee oftener than before, an'—ecod!" he broke off, the tears running down his face, "there were a lot more, but I've forgot it all, only, Peter, me an' Simon be goin' to get a lawyer chap for 'ee, an'—oh, man, Peter, say the word, an' I'll have 'ee out o' this in a twinklin' an' we'll run for it—"
But, even as I shook my head, the postboy's whip cracked, and the horses plunged forward.