answered Sheppard, emptying the glass.
“It’s an odd-shaped one,” rejoined Kneebone, examining it attentively. “But I can guess what it’s for. Sir Rowland is one of us,” he added, winking at his companions, “and so was his brother-in-law, Sir Cecil Trafford. Old Lancashire families both. Strict Catholics, and loyal to the backbone. Fine woman, Lady Trafford — a little on the wane though.”
“Ah! you’re so very particular,” sighed Mrs. Wood.
“Not in the least,” returned Kneebone, slyly, “not in the least. Another glass, Jack.”
“Thank’ee, Sir,” grinned Sheppard.
“Off with it to the health of King James the Third, and confusion to his enemies!”
“Hold!” interposed Wood; “that is treason. I’ll have no such toast drunk at my table!”
“It’s the king’s birthday,” urged the woollen draper.
“Not my king’s,” returned Wood. “I quarrel with no man’s political opinions, but I will have my own respected!”
“Eh day!” exclaimed Mrs. Wood; “here’s a pretty to-do about nothing. Marry, come up! I’ll see who’s to be obeyed. Drink the toast, Jack.”
“At your peril, sirrah!” cried Wood.
“He was hanged that left his drink behind, you know, master,” rejoined Sheppard. “Here’s King James the Third, and confusion to his enemies!”
“Very well,” said the carpenter, sitting down amid the laughter of the company.
“Jack!” cried Thames, in a loud voice, “you deserve to be hanged for a rebel as you are to your lawful king and your lawful master. But since we must have toasts,” he added, snatching up a glass, “listen to mine: Here’s King George the First! a long reign to him! and confusion to the Popish Pretender and his adherents!”
“Bravely done!” said Wood, with tears in his eyes.
“That’s the kinchin as was to try the dub for us, ain’t it?” muttered Smith to his companion as he stole a glance at Jack Sheppard.
“Silence!” returned Jackson, in a deep whisper; “and don’t muddle your brains with any more of that Pharaoh. You’ll need all your strength to grab him.”
“What’s the matter?” remarked Kneebone, addressing Sheppard, who, as he caught the single but piercing eye of Jackson fixed upon him, started and trembled.
“What’s the matter?” repeated Mrs. Wood in a sharp tone.
“Ay, what’s the matter, boy!” reiterated Jackson sternly. “Did you never see two gentlemen with only a couple of peepers between them before!”
“Never, I’ll be sworn!” said Smith, taking the opportunity of filling his glass while his comrade’s back was turned; “we’re a nat’ral cur’osity.”
“Can I have a word with you, master?” said Sheppard, approaching Wood.
“Not a syllable!” answered the carpenter, angrily. “Get about your business!”
“Thames!” cried Jack, beckoning to his friend.
But Darrell averted his head.
“Mistress!” said the apprentice, making a final appeal to Mrs. Wood.
“Leave the room instantly, sirrah!” rejoined the lady, bouncing up, and giving him a slap on the cheek that made his eyes flash fire.
“May I be cursed,” muttered Jack Sheppard, “if ever I try to be honest again.”
“May I be cursed,” muttered Sheppard, as he slunk away with (as the woollen-draper pleasantly observed) ‘a couple of boxes in charge,’ “if ever I try to be honest again!”
“Take a little toasted cheese with the swig, Mr. Smith,” observed Wood. “That’s an incorrigible rascal,” he added, as Sheppard closed the door; “it’s only to-day that I discovered —”
“What?” asked Jackson, pricking up his ears.
“Don’t speak ill of him behind his back, father,” interposed Thames.
“If I were your father, young gentleman,” returned Jackson, enraged at the interruption, “I’d teach you not to speak till you were spoken to.”
Thames was about to reply, but a glance from Wood checked him.
“The rebuke is just,” said the carpenter; “at the same time, I’m not sorry to find you’re a friend to fair play, which, as you seem to know, is a jewel. Open that bottle with a blue seal, my dear. Gentlemen! a glass of brandy will be no bad finish to our meal.”
This proposal giving general satisfaction, the bottle circulated swiftly; and Smith found the liquor so much to his taste, that he made it pay double toll on its passage.
“Your son is a lad of spirit, Mr. Wood,” observed Jackson, in a slightly-sarcastic tone.
“He’s not my son,” rejoined the carpenter.
“How, Sir?”
“Except by adoption. Thames Darrell is —”
“My husband nicknames him Thames,” interrupted Mrs. Wood, “because he found him in the river! — ha! ha!”
“Ha! ha!” echoed Smith, taking another bumper of brandy; “he’ll set the Thames on fire one of these days, I’ll warrant him!”
“That’s more than you’ll ever do, you drunken fool!” growled Jackson, in an under tone: “be cautious, or you’ll spoil all!”
“Suppose we send for a bowl of punch,” said Kneebone.
“With all my heart!” replied Wood. And, turning to his daughter, he gave the necessary directions in a low tone.
Winifred, accordingly, left the room, and a servant being despatched to the nearest tavern, soon afterwards returned with a crown bowl of the ambrosian fluid. The tables were then cleared. Bottles and glasses usurped the place of dishes and plates. Pipes were lighted; and Mr. Kneebone began to dispense the fragrant fluid; begging Mrs. Wood, in a whisper, as he filled a rummer to the brim, not to forget the health of the Chevalier de Saint George — a proposition to which the lady immediately responded by drinking the toast aloud.
“The Chevalier shall hear of this,” whispered the woollen-draper.
“You don’t say so!” replied Mrs. Wood, delighted at the idea.
Mr. Kneebone assured her that he did say so; and, as a further proof of his sincerity, squeezed her hand very warmly under the table.
Mr. Smith, now, being more than half-seas over, became very uproarious, and, claiming the attention of the table, volunteered the following
DRINKING SONG.
I.
Jolly nose! the bright rubies that garnish thy tip
Are dug from the mines of canary;
And to keep up their lustre I moisten my lip
With hogsheads of claret and sherry.
II.
Jolly nose! he who sees thee across a broad glass
Beholds thee in all thy perfection;
And to the pale snout of a temperate ass
Entertains the profoundest objection.