_Jemmy_, flinging away his crape and his crowbar, ran home to
his house--he was then living somewhere in Petty France--went to bed, and
the next morning appeared as snug and as respectable as ever to his
neighbours. Vehement was his disgust at the knaves killed and caught in
the attack on "The Spaniards;" and though there were not wanting bold
speakers, who averred that _Twitcher_ was at the bottom of the burglary,
nevertheless, his grave look, and the character he had contrived to piece
together for honest dealing, secured him from conviction.
_Jemmy Twitcher_ was what the world calls a warm fellow. He had gold in
his chest, silver tankards on his board, pictures on his walls; and more,
he had a fine family of promising _Twitchers_. One night, greatly to his
horror at the iniquity of man, miscreants surrounded his dwelling and
fired bullets at his children. The villains were apprehended; and the hair
of _Jemmy_--who had evidently forgotten all about the affair at "The
Spaniards"--stood on end, as the conspiracy of the villains was revealed,
as it was shown how, in anticipation of a wicked success, they had shared
among them, not only his gold and his tankards, but the money and plate of
all his honest neighbours.
Pages:
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49