It was toward evening of the next day that the door of my prison
was opened, and two men entered. The first was a tall,
cadaverous-looking individual of a melancholy cast of feature,
who, despite the season, was wrapped in a long frieze coat
reaching almost to his heels, from the pocket of which projected
a short staff, or truncheon. He came forward with his hands in
his pockets, and his bony chin on his breast, looking at me under
the brim of a somewhat weather-beaten hat--that is to say, he
looked at my feet and my hands and my throat and my chin, but
never seemed to get any higher.
His companion, on the contrary, bustled forward, and, tapping me
familiarly on the shoulder, looked me over with a bright,
appraising eye.
"S'elp me, Jeremy!" said he, addressing his saturnine friend,
"s'elp me, if I ever see a pore misfort'nate cove more to my mind
an' fancy--nice an' tall an' straight-legged--twelve stone if a
pound--a five-foot drop now--or say five foot six, an' 'e'll go
off as sweet as a bird; ah! you'll never feel it, my covey--not a
twinge; a leetle tightish round the windpipe, p'r'aps--but, Lord,
it's soon over. You're lookin' a bit pale round the gills, young
cove, but, Lord! that's only nat'ral too." Here he produced from
the depths of a capacious pocket something that glittered beneath
his agile fingers. "And 'ow might be your general 'ealth, young
cove?" he went on affably, "bobbish, I 'ope--fair an' bobbish?"
As he spoke, with a sudden, dexterous motion, he had snapped
something upon my wrists, so quickly that, at the contact of the
cold steel, I started, and as I did so, something jingled
faintly.
"There!" he exclaimed, clapping me on the shoulder again, but
at the same time casting a sharp glance at my shackled wrists
--"there--now we're all 'appy an' comfortable! I see as you're a
cove as takes things nice an' quiet, an'--so long as you do--I'm
your friend--Bob's my name, an' bobbish is my natur'. Lord!--the
way I've seen misfort'nate coves take on at sight o' them
'bracelets' is something out-rageous! But you--why, you're a
different kidney--you're my kind, you are what do you say,
Jeremy?"
"Don't like 'is eye!" growled that individual.
"Don't mind Jeremy," winked the other; "it's just 'is
per-werseness. Lord! 'e is the per-wersest codger you ever see!
Why, 'e finds fault wi' the Pope o' Rome, jest because 'e's in
the 'abit o' lettin' coves kiss 'is toe--I've 'eard Jeremy work
'isself up over the Pope an' a pint o' porter, till you'd 'ave
thought--"