"And his lordship, furthermore, requests me to state," proceeded Sharples, in a hoarse tone, "that he'll be responsible for the doctors' bill of all such gem'men as have received broken pates, or been otherwise damaged in the fray—ough! ough!" "Hurrah!" shouted the mob. He returned the locket without comment. "Where is your accursed master?" demanded Blueskin, holding the sword to his throat. Jack was caught, as in a trap, by the pendant tails of Abraham's long frock; and, instead of obtaining his release by his ingenuity, he only got a sound thrashing.
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