“It is. They are hunting me, and, with your assistance, I may yet escape.” “The devil doubt it. Curse me if I don’t actually love you. Why, I have been poking about for this half hour to do you a good turn.” “Is that possible?” “To be sure. Why that fellow, whose crown you have cracked so handsomely below there, was the pest of all the cracksmen in the neighbourhood. I love you. I tell you.” “Then you are—” “Jem Batter, the cracksman.” “Then you will befriend me?” “In course—though hang me if I know you. I thought I knew all the hands on town; but I never clapped eyes on your paste-pot of a mug before.” Gray replaced his pistol, as he assumed a sickly smile, and said,— “Then I have really found a friend?” “A friend! Ah, to be sure you have. I say, I’ll tell you what we’ll do. We’ll wait till the enemy is gone, and then I’ll poke you out on the roof, and you can get in at Bill Splasher’s attic. It’s only across a dozen houses or so. He’ll let you out then by the cellars of Somerset House, and you’ll be as safe as any gentleman need wish to be.” “I thank you,” said Gray. “I am now faint and weary.” “Sit down then,” cried the man. “Don’t stand upon ceremony here. I suppose you’ve been at some fakement of value—eh?” “Yes, yes—a robbery,” said Gray, who thought it best to fall in with the humour of his new friend. “Plenty o’ swag?” “A trifle, a mere trifle.” “Never mind, better luck next time,” cried the man dealing Gray an encouraging blow upon the back that nearly took his breath away. “Thank you,” said Gray. The thief, for such indeed he was, now proceeded to a cupboard, and handed to Gray therefrom a bottle covered with protective wicker-work, saying,— “Drink; you’ll find that the best stuff.” Gray took a hearty draught of the contents, which consisted of exceedingly strong raw spirit. “Don’t you feel better?” said the man. “Yes,” replied Gray, “a great deal better.” “Very good. Now, you see, short reckonings make long friends.” “What do you mean?” “Oh, you know the reg’lar terms of business. It’s share and share alike with all who help a lame dog over a stile.” “I am quite willing,” said Gray, “to award—” “Oh, bother award,” interrupted the other; “I’m above it. Do you think I’d take anything but my rights of lending a hand to help a poor fellow when the bull dogs are on his track? No, sink me!” “You are very kind,” said Gray, “but still—” “Still, nonsense. There’s you, me, and there will be Bill, and Bill’s young woman—that’ll make four of us. Share and share alike’s the plan.” “Share?” “Yes—the swag. Come, honour bright, now produce it, will you?” “Really, I—I—” “Do you doubt my honour?” cried the ruffian. “If you do, why don’t you say so, you sneak? Take my life, but don’t doubt my honour!”