“Save us!” continued the apprentice, “I hope this beam doesn't resemble the Newgate stone; or I may chance, like the great men the song speaks of, to swing on the Tyburn tree for my pains. No fear o' that.—Though if my name should become as famous as theirs, it wouldn't much matter. The prospect of the gallows would never deter me from taking to the road, if I were so inclined.
Full twenty highwaymen blithe and bold,
Rattled their chains in that dungeon old;
Of all that number there 'scaped not one
Who carved his name on the Newgate Stone.
With his chisel so fine, tra la!
“There!” cried the boy, leaping from the stool, and drawing back a few paces on the bench to examine his performance,—“that'll do. Claude du Val himself couldn't have carved it better—ha! ha!”
The name inscribed upon the beam (of which, as it has been carefully preserved by the subsequent owners of Mr. Wood's habitation in Wych Street, we are luckily enabled to furnish a facsimile) was
“I've half a mind to give old Wood the slip, and turn highwayman,” cried Jack, as he closed the knife, and put it in his pocket.
“The devil you have!” thundered a voice from behind, that filled the apprentice with dismay. “Come down, sirrah, and I'll teach you how to deface my walls in future. Come down, I say, instantly, or I'll make you.” Upon which, Mr. Wood caught hold of Jack's leg, and dragged him off the bench.
“And so you'll turn highwayman, will you, you young dog?” continued the carpenter, cuffing him soundly,—“rob the mails, like Jack Hall, I suppose.”
“Yes, I will,” replied Jack sullenly, “if you beat me in that way.”
Amazed at the boy's assurance, Wood left off boxing his ears for a moment, and, looking at him steadfastly, said in a grave tone, “Jack, Jack, you'll come to be hanged!”