a precious specimen of hinnocent 'unmanity, ain't you?"

Sparks made no reply, but scowled at the boy with a look of deadly
hatred.

"Well, upon my word," resumed the Bloater, with a smile, "if I kep' a
menagerie, I'd offer you five 'undred a year to represent a Tasmanian
devil. But look 'ere, now, I've no time to waste with you; I come 'ere
to give you a bit of my mind. You're a fire-raiser, you are. Ah! you
may well wince an' grow w'ite. You'd grow w'iter still, with a rope
round your neck, if you wos left to _my_ tender mercies, you w'ite
livered villain! for I knows you; I've watched you; I've found you hout;
an' I've only got to 'old up my little finger to cut your pretty little
career prematoorly short. You don't seem to like that? No, I didn't
expect you would. This young man, whose 'art is big, if 'is body's
small, knows as much about you as I do. Two witnesses, you see; but you
_ain't_ left to _our_ tender mercies; and if you wants to know who
delivered you from us, and from the maginstrates, and Jack Ketch,
_alias_ Calcraft, I replies, _Martha Reading_. Ha! you look surprised.
Quite nat'ral. You've deserved very different treatment from that young
ooman, an' didn't expect that she'd return good for evil, I s'pose.
That's because you don't know 'er; you don't understand 'er, you
miserable lump of selfish stoopidity. 'Ows'ever, as I said before, I
ain't a-goin' to waste no more time with you. But let me, before
biddin' you adoo, give you a caution. Remember, that _I've got my eye
on you_. Just one word more. W'en you thinks of _me_, don't think of
one as 'as got any tender mercies, for I ain't got none; not a scrap of
'em, nor nothin' of the sort. W'en you wants to know the true cause of
your bein' let off, just think of two words--_Martha Reading_! She
knows nothin' o' wot I'm doin', nevertheless, _she's_ done it! Let 'er
name ring in your ears, an' thunder in your brain, and burn in your
'art, till it consooms your witals or your willany! Now, Jim,"
concluded the Bloater, rising and opening a large clasp-knife, "you go
to the door, open it wide, an' stan' by to cut, and run. This gen'lm'n
ain't to be trusted w'en free. Are you ready?"

"Hall ready," replied Jim.

The Bloater cut the cord that bound Phil Sparks, and darted from the
room. Before the man could disentangle himself from its coils, the boys
were safe from pursuit, quietly wending their way through the crowded
thoroughfares