She was a trained being—trained by an implacable mother to one end. His curiosity, his literary instincts, had been submerged by the recurring thought of the fool he had made of himself. To surrender himself to the law, to face trial and imprisonment, was out of the question. Anything. The ruse succeeded almost beyond his expectation. "Why not?" "I'll tell you," cried a deep voice from the back of the bed. "And so you'll turn highwayman, will you, you young dog?" continued the carpenter, cuffing him soundly,—"rob the mails, like Jack Hall, I suppose. Some few of the individuals seated at the other tables seemed to take an interest in the proceedings of Blueskin and his party, just as a bystander watches any other game; but, generally speaking, the company were too much occupied with their own concerns to pay attention to anything else. Let—it—fall.
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