n in the grey air of morning
upon some errand of mercy or revenge, he appeared the least fearsome of
mortals, while an awkward limp upon his left toe deepened the impression
of timidity. So abstract was his manner, so hesitant his gait, that he
would hug the wall as he went, nervously stroking its grimy surface with
his long, twittering fingers. But Ralph, as justice and the Jug knew
too well, was neither fool nor coward. His character belied his outward
seeming. A large soul had crept into the case of his wizened body, and
if a poltroon among his ancestors had gifted him with an alien type, he
had inherited from some nameless warrior both courage and resource.

He was born in easy circumstances, and gently nurtured in the distant
village of Kensington. Though cast in a scholar's mould, and very apt
for learning, he rebelled from the outset against a career of inaction.
His lack of strength was never a check upon his high stomach; he would
fight with boys of twice his size, and accept the certain defeat in a
cheerful spirit of dogged pugnacity. Moreover, if his arms were weak,
his cunning was as keen-edged as his tongue; and, before his stricken
eye had paled, he had commonly executed an ample vengeance upon his
enemy. Nor was it industry that placed him at the top of the class. A
ready wit made him master of the knowledge he despised.

But he would always desert his primer to follow the hangman's lumbering
cart up Tyburn Hill, and, still a mere imp of mischief, he would run
the weary way from Kensington to Shoe Lane on the distant chance of a
cock-fight. He was present, so he would relate in after years, when Sir
Thomas Jermin's man put his famous trick upon the pit. With a hundred
pounds in his pocket and under his arm a dunghill cock, neatly trimmed
for the fray, the ingenious ruffian, as Briscoe would tell you, went off
to Shoe Lane, persuaded an accomplice to fight the cock in Sir Thomas
Jermin's name, and laid a level hundred against his own bird. So lofty
was Sir Thomas's repute that backers were easily found, but the dunghill
rooster instantly showed a clean pair of heels, and the cheat was
justified of his cunning.

Thus Ralph Briscoe learnt the first lessons in that art of sharping
wherein he was afterwards an adept; and when he left school his head
was packed with many a profitable device which no book learning could
impart. His father, however, still resolute that he should join an
intelligent profession,