The Broad Highway

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--"