"If Jack would come to my house, I'd contrive to hide him," remarked a buxom dame. "Poor fellow! I'm glad he has escaped."
"Jack seems to be a great favourite with the fair sex," observed a smirking grocer's apprentice.
"Of course," rejoined the bystander, who had just spoken, and who was of a cynical turn,—"the greater the rascal, the better they like him."
"Here's a particular account of Jack's many robberies and escapes," roared the hawker,—"how he broke into the house of his master, Mr. Wood, at Dollis Hill—"
"Let me have one," said a carpenter, who was passing by at the moment,—"Mr. Wood was an old friend of mine—and I recollect seeing Jack when he was bound 'prentice to him."
"A penny, if you please, Sir," said the hawker.—"Sold again! Here you have the full, true, and particular account of the barbarous murder committed by Jack Sheppard and his associate, Joseph Blake, alias Blueskin, upon the body of Mrs. Wood—"
"That's false!" cried a voice behind him.
The man turned at the exclamation, and so did several of the bystanders; but they could not make out who had uttered it.
Jack, who had been lingering near the group, now walked on.
In the middle of the little town stood the shop of a Jew dealer in old clothes. The owner was at the door unhooking a few articles of wearing apparel which he had exposed outside for sale. Amongst other things, he had just brought down an old laced bavaroy, a species of surtout much worn at the period.