Having drunk as much as he thought prudent, and thanked his unknown friend for his attention, Jack again lay down on the straw, and indulged himself with another nap, intending to get up as soon as it was perfectly dark. They might applaud, or object, or interfere, but the drama was her very own. "It was given me by a man who was drinking t'other night with Blueskin at the Lion! and who, though he slouched his hat over his eyes, and muffled his chin in a handkerchief, must have been Jonathan Wild. Sorrow lay in the back of his mind as he withdrew, but he put it aside. ‘What’s to do?’ ‘Valade is here. " Figg turned aside to hide the tears that started to his eyes,—for the stout prizefighter, with a man's courage, had a woman's heart,—and the procession again set forward.
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