an Wild."

"'Sblood!" cried Jackson, rising, "I can't sit still and hear Mr. Wild,
whom I believe to be as honest a gentleman as any in the kingdom,
calumniated!"

"Fire and fury!" exclaimed Smith, getting up with the brandy-bottle in
his grasp; "no man shall abuse Mr. Wild in my presence! He's the
right-hand of the community! We could do nothing without him!"

"_We!_" repeated Wood, significantly.

"Every honest man, Sir! He helps us to our own again."

"Humph!" ejaculated the carpenter.

"Surely," observed Thames, laughing, "to one who entertains so high an
opinion of Jonathan Wild, as Mr. Jackson appears to do, it can't be very
offensive to be told, that he's like him."

"I don't object to the likeness, if any such exists, young Sir,"
returned Jackson, darting an angry glance at Thames; "indeed I'm rather
flattered by being thought to resemble a gentleman of Mr. Wild's figure.
But I can't submit to hear the well-earned reputation of my friend
termed an 'infamous notoriety.'"

"No, we can't stand that," hiccupped Smith, scarcely able to keep his
legs.

"Well, gentlemen," rejoined Wood, mildly; "since Mr. Wild is a friend of
yours, I'm sorry for what I said. I've no doubt he's as honest as either
of you."

"Enough," returned Jackson, extending his hand; "and if I've expressed
myself warmly, I'm sorry for it likewise. But you must allow me to
observe, my good Sir, that you're wholly in the wrong respecting my
friend. Mr. Wild never was the associate of thieves."

"Never," echoed Smith, emphatically, "upon my honour."

"I'm satisfied with your assurance," replied the carpenter, drily.

"It's more than I am," muttered Thames.

"I was not aware that Jonathan Wild was an acquaintance of yours, Mr.
Jackson," said Kneebone, whose assiduity to Mrs. Wood had prevented him
from paying much attention to the previous scene.

"I've known him all my life," replied the other.

"The devil you have! Then, perhaps, you can tell me when he intends to
put his threat into execution?"

"What threat?" asked Jackson.

"Why, of hanging the fellow who acts as his jackal; one Blake, or
Blueskin, I think he's called."

"You've been misinformed, Sir," interposed Smith. "Mr. Wild is incapable
of such baseness."

"Bah!" returned the woollen-draper. "I see you don't know him as well as
you pretend. Jonathan is capable of anything. He has hanged twelve of
his associates already. The moment they cease to be serviceable, or
be