Prison was beastly. Boys, at the time of which we write, were attired like men of their own day, or certain charity-children of ours; and the stripling in question was dressed in black plush breeches, and a gray drugget waistcoat, with immoderately long pockets, both of which were evidently the cast-off clothes of some one considerably his senior. What matters it? My servant, he is wounded—and by a Frenchman, if you wish to make an arrest. The moment I entered the room, and found you a prisoner in the hands of Jonathan Wild, I guessed how matters stood, and acted accordingly. But native! She must watch out. Wood!—no," replied the turnkey. Spurlock snatched the check out of Ruth's hands and ran to the window.
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