Spring-Heel'd Jack, The Terror of London — page 236: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

CT and while he was thinking how best to. effect this object, a hand was placed on his shoulder from behind, and he turned, to see a watch- man, rattle in hand, at his side. ‘“ Hallo! Spring-heeled Jack. have 1?” said the man. ‘Hold me tight, then,” said Jack, making a erasp at the rattle, and at the same time putting his foot behind the man’s legs and toppling him over. ‘“This will draw them down here,” said Jack, ‘and leave the road clear for me to get Jane safely to her destination.” And, swinging the rattle round with all his force, he sang out at the top of his voice— “Thieves! Murder!’ Police! Watch! Help! help! Thieves! thieves!” The watchman scrambled to his feet; but, with no great violence, Jack pushed him down again; and the next moment windows were raised, and the tramp of those who .had given him chase was plainly heard hurrying in the distance. “My purpose, I think, is served,’’ muttered Jack, flinging the rattle away, and’ bounding with the speed of an antelope away from the spot, and fairly getting out of sight before the crowd had reaehed the watchman, and all asked at once what was the matter. Down one street, and up another, went Jack, till he reached the high-road again, and sought the garden where he had bidden Jane Slater secrete herself, and where he now found her, half dead with terror. A few words, however, reassured her, and they started again on their way without any fear of further molestation. Tve got you, CHAPTER LXXXIT. THE TRAMP AND THE WAGGONER—JACK OFFERS ASSISTANCE. A FINE team of horses were slowly walking along a country road a few miles from London, drag- ging behind them one of those lumbering, large- wheeled waggons, common enough some thirty or forty years ago, but now seldom met with, and which was being driven by a ruddy-faced yoxel attired in a long smock and a billycock hat, and who whistled loudJy as he trudged along, with the brass-bound whip over his shoulder, either to cheer him on his way, or dis- pel the silence which reigned around at that early hour of the morning, or else to keep awake the animals, who, judging from their slow pace, were drowsy and tired. A. thick canvas, supported by broad wooden hoops, formed an awning over the waggoner, and which was wet with the heavy night dew. Suspended inside the waggon from the centre hoop was a large horn lantern, which threw a dim light on to the numerous tubs and bushels and quantity of loose straw which the interior of the vehicle contained, and also played fitfully on the red tace of a hearty-looking youth, who snored loudly among the goods. This was the waggoner’s mate, who, having had his spell at the driving, or rather minding the team, had turned in for a snooze till the vehicle reached its destination—London. SPRING-HEEL’D JACK: THE TERROR OF LONDON. The horses had been on the road for many hours, and were worn and jaded, and were only kept in motion by the continued “ gee-wut,” ‘“mether way” of their driver, who was as anxi- ously looking forward for the end of the journey as they were. But they had still some miles to go ere the city was reached, and the hard turnpike roads gave place to the stones of the metropolis. There was a bright moon, which reflected the shadows of horses, waggon, and man, on the dry road; and as the waggoner whistled, he amused himself by trying to step on the legs of his own shadow—a feat not only ridiculous, but impos- sible to perform. . | While thus engaged, a figure suddenly rose up from under a hedge by the roadside, and in a pleading voice, said— ‘¢ Are you going to London, sir?” The sudden appearance of the stranger in his path caused the waggoner not only to desist whistling, but to spring backwards in alarm. ‘Tf you please, sir, are you going to Lon- don ?”’ was the question again asked by a poor, miserable-looking youth, whose pale face and shabby attire bespoke him no stranger to want and suffering. The waggoner recovered from the sudden shock which he had experienced by having his reverie broken in upon so unexpectedly, and in. a surly tone, replied— - “ What's that to thee ?” “Tf you are, sir,’ said the youth, in a tremu- ious tone, ‘would you kindly give me a lift in your waggon ?” The driver of the lumbering vehicle eyed him for some moments, and then sneeringly re- marked— ‘¢ What for should I give ye a lift?’ “Because I’ve walked many miles, and am © worn out with hunger and fatigue. Will you, sir, if you please ?” “1 bean’t a ‘sir.” 1m Roger Stokes, that’s all,” said the man. ‘Then, Mr. Roger Stokes, will you be kind enough to let me get in your waggon, and ride to London ?” said the youth. : “An I bean’t a ‘mister’ neither” crowled the man ; ‘“‘and I bean’t a-going to let you get in the waggon.” The youth heaved ‘a sigh, and drew back as the surly words were spoken. ‘*T suppose ye be some darned, lazy skulk,” said the waggoner, as he flung his whip over the neck of one of the horses. ‘*‘ Gee-wut! Mether way.!” And with this the waggoner commenced to trudge on again beside his team. ‘““1 hope you may never need a lift over a hard road, and meet with any one as unfeeling as yourself,” said the youth; “and I thank heaven that it has forced poverty upon me rather than an unfeeling heart.” “Ye bean’t a preacher, be ye?” said the waggoner, turning his head. - “No. Nor are you a Christian.” “Bean’t I?” ‘“Indeed, no, or your tones would be more kind to one in distress.” “T tell ’e what it is,” said Roger Stokes, ————— TS A ce Comicboo ———— “Ss-com