ToC Scarcely an hour after the horrible occurrence just related, as Jonathan Wild was seated in the audience-chamber of his residence at the Old Bailey, occupied, like Peachum, (for whose portrait he sat,) with his account-books and registers, he was interrupted by the sudden entrance of Quilt Arnold, who announced Jack Sheppard and Blueskin. “Oh, we are also under the spell,” he declared, “but I think that we are here mainly because it is cheap. “I said that at the Zoo, and I mean it. But I shan't let him off thus. Did you ever go by any other names, ma’am?” “Yes. "Only my darbies," returned Jack, clinking his chains. She guarded her mother, or at least she had liked to think so. But I was sorry for poor Jack—as I am still, and hoped he would mend. Rummage, my boy, do.
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