The time is out of joint;--O cursed spite.
That I was ever born to set it right.
_Hamlet._
As the afternoon wore on, on that day when the bank lost its $50,000,
Geoffrey Hampstead was back at his work as usual. He did not change his
waistcoat while at his rooms, because he thought this might be remarked.
He merely left the money there, and went back to his work as if nothing
had happened. The excitement among the clerks in the bank was feverish.
Geoffrey let them know what he and Dearborn had seen in Jack's room, and
that the confusion there clearly showed that he had gone off somewhere.
Most faces looked black at this, but there were several who, in spite of
the worst appearances, refused to believe in Jack's guilt. Geoffrey was
one of them. Geoffrey was quite broken down. Everybody felt sorry for
him. He had made a great friend of Jack, and every one could see that
the blow had almost prostrated him.
Toward the end of the afternoon he said to a couple of his friends: "I
wish you fellows would dine with me to-night. I feel as if I had to have
somebody with me."
These two did so. In the evening they picked up some more of the bank
men, and all repaired to Geoffrey's quarters. They saw he was drinking
heavily, and perhaps out of fellow-feeling for a man who had had a blow,
they also drank a good deal themselves, and lapsed into hilarity,
partly in order to draw Geoffrey out of his gloom.
At one o'clock the night was still young so far as they were concerned,
and the liquor in the rooms had run short. Geoffrey did not wish to be
left alone. The noise and foolishness of his friends diverted his
thoughts from more unpleasant subjects. When the wine ran out, he said
they must have some more. They said it would be impossible to get it;
but Geoffrey said Patsey Priest could procure it, and he rang on Mrs.
Priest's bell until Patsey appeared, looking like a disheveled monkey.
He was received with an ovation. Geoffrey gave him the money, and sent
him to a neighboring large hotel to get a case of champagne. When he
returned, having accomplished his errand, the young gentlemen were
enthusiastic over him. He was made to stand on a table and take an
affidavit on an album that he had brought the right change back. Then
some jackass said a collection must be taken up for Patsey, and he
headed the list with a dollar. Of course, everybody else gave a dollar
also, because this was such a fine idea. Mr. St. George Le Mesurier
Hector Northcote was delighted with Patsey. "Mr. Priest," he said, "you
are a gentleman and a man of finish; but it grieves me to notice that
your garments, although compatible with genius, do not, of themselves,
suggest that luxury which genius should command. Wait here for a moment;
you must be clad in costly raiment."
Mr. St. G. Le M. H. Northcote darted unsteadily, not to say lurched,
into Geoffrey's room, looking for that "very dreadful waistcoat" which
he had been pained to see Geoffrey wearing during the day. He found it
at once in a closet, and, wrapping it in among several trousers and
coats which he had selected at random, he came out again with the bundle
in his hand.
"What are you doing there with my clothes?" asked Geoffrey, rising
good-humoredly, but inwardly nervous, and going toward the bedroom as
Northcote came out.
"I am going to give them to a gentleman whose station in life is not
properly typified in his garb."
Geoffrey did not see the waistcoat lying inside one of the coats in the
bundle, and so he thought it better to humor the idea than run any
chances. He had taken off this objectionable article before going to
dinner, intending to come back and burn it when he had more time.
He took the bundle from Northcote and handed it to Patsey as he dragged
that individual to the door. "Here," he said. "Don't come down in rags
to my room again. Now, get out."
Patsey disappeared hurriedly through the door. He had his own opinion of
these young men who were so ready to pay for the pleasure of knocking
him about, and if he had been required to classify mammalia he would not
have applied the old name of _homo sapiens_ to any species to which they
belonged.
The next day, to kill time during the anxious hours, Geoffrey went out
yachting with Dusenall and several others. As the wind fell off, they
did not reach the moorings again until late in the evening, when they
dined at the club-house on the island, and slept on the Ideal instead of
going home. After an early breakfast the next morning they were rowed
across the bay, and Geoffrey reached the bank at the usual time.
In this way, having been away from town all night, he knew nothing of
the news that had spread like wildfire through certain circles on the
previous night, that Jack Cresswell had been arrested and brought to
Toronto. The first person whom he met at the door of the bank was the
omnipresent Detective Dearborn, who smiled and asked him what he thought
of the news.
"What news?" asked Geoffrey, his eyes growing small.
"Why, this," he replied, handing Geoffrey one of the morning papers,
which he had not yet seen. Geoffrey read the following, printed in very
large type, on the first page:
CLEVER CAPTURE!
JACK CRESSWELL, THE VICTORIA BANK ROBBER ARRESTED!
THE STOLEN $50,000 SUPPOSED TO BE NOW RECOVERED!
EXCITING CHASE AND EXTRAORDINARY DETECTIVE WORK!
A BULL'S-EYE FOR DETECTIVE DEARBORN!
PRISONER CAPTURED DURING A COLLISION BETWEEN TWO VESSELS!
WRECK OF THE STEAMER ELEUSINIAN!!
ALL ON BOARD LOST!!
EXCEPT THE WILY DETECTIVE.
GREAT EXCITEMENT!!
FURTHER DISCLOSURES ABOUT THE BANK!!!
THE BLOATED ARISTOCRACY SHAKEN TO ITS FOUNDATIONS!!!!
Detective Dearborn, on his arrival in Toronto, was so certain of
convicting his prisoner that he threw the hungry newspaper reporters
some choice and tempting _morceaux_. And, from the little that he gave
them, they built up such an interesting and imaginative article that one
was forced to think of the scientific society described by Bret Harte,
when Mr. Brown--
Reconstructed there.
From those same bones an animal that was extremely rare.
Indeed, from the glowing colors in which the detective's chase was
painted, from the many allusions to Jack's high standing in society and
his terrible downfall, from a full description of Jack as being the
petted darling of all the unwise virgins of the upper ten, and from the
way that the name of Jack was familiarly bandied about, one necessarily
ended the article with a disbelief in any form of respectability,
especially in the upper classes, and with a profound conviction that
society generally was rotten to the core. The name "Jack" seemed now to
have a criminal sound about it, and reminded the reader of "Thimble-rig
Jack" and "Jack Sheppard," and other notorieties who have done much to
show that people called "Jack" should be regarded with suspicion.
Mr. Dearborn watched Geoffrey's face as he glanced over the newspaper.
Dearborn had a sort of an idea from all he could learn, that Jack had
had a longer head than his own to back him up, and, for reasons which
need not be mentioned now, he suspected that there was more than one in
this business.
However, Geoffrey knew that he was being watched, and his nerve was
still equal to the occasion. He turned white, as a matter of course--so
did everybody in the bank--and Dearborn got no points from his face.
Geoffrey handed him back the paper, and said commiseratingly: "Poor
Jack, he has dished himself, sure enough, this time."
Dearborn served him then with a subpoena to attend the hearing before
the police magistrate at an hour which was then striking, and Geoffrey
walked over to the police court with him.
Standing-room in the court that day was difficult to get. In the morning
well-worn _habitues_ of that interesting place easily sold the width of
their bodies on the floor for fifty cents.
Maurice Rankin had rushed off to see Jack in the morning. He knew
nothing about the evidence, but he felt that Jack was innocent. He found
his friend apparently in a sort of stupor, and was hardly recognized by
him.
"You must have the best lawyer I can get to defend you, Jack," he said.
No answer.
"Don't you intend to make any defense or have any assistance? I can get
you a splendid man in two minutes."
Jack shook his head slowly, and said, with an evident effort:
"No. I don't care."
Rankin did not know what to make of him; but, finally, he said:
"Well, if you won't have any person better, I will sit there, and if I
see my way to anything I'll perhaps say a word. You do not object to my
doing this, do you?" Jack's answer, or rather the motion of his head,
might have meant anything, but Rankin took it to mean assent.
At half-past nine, Jack was led from the cell outside to the court-room
by two policemen who seemed partly to support him.
A thrill ran through his old friends when they saw him. His face was
ghastly, and his jaw had dropped in an enervated way that gave him the
appearance of a man who had been fairly cornered and had "thrown up the
sponge" in despair. He had not been brushed or combed for two nights and
a day. He still wore his old, dirty sailing clothes. The sailor's
sheath-knife attached to his leather belt had been removed by the
police. His partial stupor was construed to be dogged sullenness, and it
assisted in giving every one a thoroughly bad impression as to his
innocence.
After he was placed in the dock he sat down and absently picked at some
blisters on his hands, until the magistrate spoke to him, and then the
policemen ordered him to stand up. When he stood thus, partly raised
above the spectators, his eyes were lusterless and stolid and he looked
vacantly in the direction of the magistrate.
"John Cresswell, it is charged against you that you did, on the 25th day
of August last, at the city of Toronto, in the county of York,
feloniously steal, take, and carry away fifty thousand dollars, the
property of the Victoria Bank of Canada," etc.
Rankin saw that Jack did not comprehend what was going on. He got up,
and was going to say something when the magistrate continued:
"Do you wish that the charge against you shall be tried by me or with a
jury at the next assizes, or by some other court of competent
jurisdiction?"
No answer.
The magistrate looked at Jack keenly. It struck him that the prisoner
had been imbibing and was not yet sober, and so he spoke louder, and in
a more explanatory and informal tone.
"You may be tried, if you like, on some other day, before the county
judge without a jury, or you may wait till the coming assizes and be
tried with a jury, or, if you consent to it, you may be tried here, now,
before me. Which do you wish to do?"
Still no answer.
Rankin considered. He knew nothing of the evidence, and thought it
impossible for Jack to be guilty. He did not wish to relinquish any
chances his friend might have with a jury, and he felt that Jack himself
ought to answer if he could. He went to him and said simply, for it was
so difficult to make him understand:
"Do you want to be tried now or afterward?"
Jack nodded his head, while he seemed to be trying to collect himself.
"You mean to be tried now?"
Jack looked a little brighter here, and said weakly:
"Certainly--why not?"
Detective Dearborn, had not been idle since his return; and all the
witnesses that the prosecution required were present.
His first witness was Geoffrey Hampstead. His evidence was looked upon
by the spectators as uninteresting, and merely for the sake of form.
Everybody knew what he had to say. He merely explained how the packet of
fifty bills belonging to the Victoria Bank had been put in a certain
place on the desk in his box at the bank, and that, he said, was all he
knew about it.
At this point, Jack leaned over the bar and said; with a stupid pleasure
in his face:
"Morry, there's old Geoffrey. I can see him. What's he talking about?
Say, if you get a chance, tell him I am awfully glad to see him again."
Rankin now became convinced that there was something the matter with
Jack's head, and he resolved to speak to the court to obtain a
postponement of the case when the present witness had given his
evidence.
It was also drawn from Geoffrey, by the county attorney, that the
prisoner alone had had access to the place where the money lay, that it
could not have been reached from the public hall-way, and that the
prisoner had gone out very soon after he had spoken to the witness--when
the money lay within his reach.
The crown prosecutor said he would ask the witness nothing more at
present, but would require him again.
Rankin then represented to the police magistrate that his client was too
ill to give him any instructions in the matter. The defendant was a
personal friend of his, and although willing to act for him, he was, as
yet, completely in the dark as to any of the facts, and in view of this
he deemed it only proper to request that the whole matter should be
postponed until he should be properly able to judge for himself.
The magistrate then asked, with something of a twinkle in his eye.
"What do you think is the matter with your client, Mr. Rankin?"
"It is hard for me, not being a doctor, to say," answered Rankin,
looking back thoughtfully toward Jack. "I think, however, that he is
suffering from some affection of the brain."
A horse-laugh was heard from some one among the "unwashed," and the
police strained their heads to see who made the noise. The old plea of
insanity seemed to be coming up once again, and one man in the crowd was
certainly amused.
The magistrate said: "I do not think there is any reason why I should
not go on hearing the evidence, now. I will note your objection, Mr.
Rankin, and I perceive that you may be in a rather awkward position,
perhaps, if you are in total ignorance of the facts."
Rankin was in a quandary. If he sat down and declined to cross-examine
the witnesses or act for the defendant in any way, Jack might be
convicted, and all chances for technical loopholes of escape might be
lost forever. There might, however, in this case, if the trial were
forced on, be a ground for some after proceedings on the claim that he
did not get fair play. On the other hand, cross-examination might
possibly break up the prosecution, if the evidence was weak or
unsatisfactory. He came to the conclusion that he would go on and
examine the witness and try to have it understood that he did so under
protest.
After partly explaining to the magistrate what he wished to do, he asked
Geoffrey a few questions--not seeing his way at all clearly, but just
for the general purpose of fishing until he elicited something that he
might use.
"You say that after the defendant spoke to you in the bank you heard him
go out through the side door. Where does that side door lead?"
"It leads into an empty hall, and then you go out of an outer side door
into the street."
"Is not this outer side door sometimes left open in hot weather?"
"Yes, I think it was open all that day."
"How are the partitions between the stalls or boxes of the different
clerks in the Victoria Bank constructed?"
"They are made rather high (about five feet six high) and they are built
of wood--black walnut, I think."
"Then, if the door of your box was closed you could not see who came in
or out of Mr. Cresswell's stall?"
"Only through the wicket between our boxes."
"How long after Mr. Cresswell went out did you notice that the money was
gone?"
"I can't quite remember. I was going on with my work with my back to the
money. It might have been from an hour to an hour and a half. I went out
to the side door myself for an instant, to see what the weather was
going to be in the afternoon. It was some time after I came back that I
found that the money was gone."
"Then, as far as you are able to tell, somebody might have come into Mr.
Cresswell's stall after he went out, and taken the money without your
knowing it?"
"Certainly. There was perhaps an hour and a half in which this could
have been done."
"This package of money, as it lay, could have been seen from the public
hall-way of the bank through your front wicket, could it not?"
"Yes."
"And it was perfectly possible for a person, after seeing the money in
this way, to go around and come in the side door, enter Mr. Cresswell's
box and take the money?"
"Yes, I have heard of as daring robberies as that."
"Or it would have been easy for any of the other bank officials to have
taken the money?"
"If they had wished to do so--yes."
"And it would have been possible for you, when you went to the side
door, to have handed the money to some one there ready to receive it?"
"Oh, yes," said Geoffrey, laughing; "I might have had a confederate
outside. I could have given a confederate about two hundred thousand
dollars that morning, I think."
"Thank you," said Rankin to Geoffrey, as he sat down.
Geoffrey saw what Rankin wanted, and he assisted him as far as he could
to open up any other possibilities to account for the disappearance of
the money.
The cabman who removed Jack's valises early in the morning was then
called. He identified Jack as the person who had engaged him. Had been
often engaged before by Mr. Cresswell. He also identified Jack's
valises, which were produced.
Rankin did not cross-examine this man. His evidence was brought in to
show that Jack's absconding was a carefully planned one--partly put into
action before the stealing of the money--and not the result of any hasty
impulse.
The caretaker of the yacht-club house was also called, for the same
object. He told what he knew, and was restrained with difficulty from
continually saying that he did not see anything suspicious about what he
saw. The caretaker was evidently partial to the prisoner.
Detective Dearborn then took the stand, and as he proceeded in his story
the interest grew intense. But when he mentioned meeting a young lady on
the steamboat, and getting into a conversation with her, Rankin arose
and said he had no doubt there were few ladies who could resist his
friend Detective Dearborn, but that he did not see what she had to do
with the case.
Then the county attorney jumped to his feet and contended that this
evidence was admissible to show that this woman was going to the same
place as the prisoner and had conspired with the prisoner to rob the
bank.
Rankin replied that there was no charge against the prisoner for
conspiracy, that the woman was not mentioned in the charge, and unless
it were shown that she was in some way connected with the prisoner in
the larceny evidence as to her conversations could not be received if
not spoken in the prisoner's presence.
Rankin had no idea who this woman was or what she had said. He only
choked off everything he could on general principles.
The magistrate refused to receive as evidence the conversation between
her and the detective. So Rankin made his point, not knowing how
valuable it was to his client.
Detective Dearborn was much chagrined at this. He thought that his
story, as an interesting narrative of detective life, was quite spoiled
by the omission, and he blurted out as a sort of "aside" to the
spectators:
"Well, any way, she said she was Cresswell's wife."
This remark created a sensation in court, as he anticipated. But the
magistrate rebuked him very sharply for it, saying: "I would have you
remember that the evidence of very zealous police officers is always
sufficiently open to suspicion. Showing more zeal than the law allows to
obtain a conviction does not improve your condition as a witness."
Although merited, this was a sore snub for the able detective, and it
seemed quite to take the heart out of him; but he afterward recovered
himself as he fell to describing what had occurred in the collision and
how he had got on board the North Star--the sole survivor from the
Eleusinian. In speaking of the arrest he did not say that he had
prevented Jack from saving the life dearest on earth to him. He gave the
truth a very unpleasant turn against the prisoner by saying that Jack
struggled violently to escape from the arrest and tried to throw
himself overboard. This, of course, gave all the impression that he was
ready to seek death rather than be captured. It gave a desperate aspect
to his conduct, and accorded well with his sullen appearance in the
court-room. Dearborn suppressed the fact that Jack had been delirious
and raving for twelve hours afterward, as this might explain his present
condition and cause delay. He had lost no opportunity of circulating the
suggestion that he was shamming insanity.
After he had briefly described his return to Toronto with his prisoner,
the crown attorney asked him:
"Did you find any articles upon his person?"
"Yes; I took this knife away from him."
"Ah, indeed!" said the crown attorney, taking the knife and examining
it. "Quite a murderous-looking weapon."
"Which will be found strapped to the back of every sailor that
breathes," interrupted Rankin indignantly. "I hope my learned friend
won't arrest his barber for using razors in his daily work."
"And what else did you find upon him?" asked the attorney, returning to
the case for want of good retort.
Detective Dearborn thought a sensation agreeable to himself would
certainly be made by his answer:
"Well," he said, with the _sang froid_ with which detectives delight to
make their best points, "I found on him two of the stolen
one-thousand-dollar bills--"
"Now, now, now!" cried Rankin, jumping to his feet in an instant. "You
can not possibly know that of your own knowledge. You are getting too
zealous again, Mr. Dearborn."
"Don't alarm yourself, my acute friend," said the crown attorney,
conscious that all the evidence he required was coming on afterward. "We
will prove the identity of the recovered bills to your most complete
satisfaction." Then, turning to the witness, he said: "Go on."
Dearborn, who had made the little stir he expected went on to explain
what the other moneys were that he had found on Jack, and described how
he found the bills pinned securely inside a watch-pocket of a waistcoat
that he wore underneath his outer shirt.
Rankin asked Dearborn only one question. There did not seem to be any
use in resisting the matter except on the one point which remained to be
proved.
"You do not pretend to identify these bills yourself?"
"No, sir, I don't. But we'll fix that all right for you," he said,
triumphantly, as he descended from the box.
The clerk in the Montreal Telegraph Company's office who compared the
numbers of the bills with the list of numbers sent from New York, then
identified the two recovered bills beyond any doubt. He also swore that
he personally deposited the package of bills with the receiving teller
of the Victoria Bank.
The receiving teller swore to having received such a package and having
handed it to Mr. Hampstead to be used in his department.
Geoffrey Hampstead was recalled, and acknowledged receiving such a
package from the other clerk. But what surprised everybody was that he
took up the recovered bills and swore positively that the stolen bills
were of a light-brown color, and not dark-green, like the ones found on
the prisoner.
Geoffrey had seen that the whole case depended on the identification of
these bills. If he could break the evidence of the other witnesses
sufficiently on this point, there might, he thought, be a chance of
having Jack liberated.
A peculiar thing happened here, which startled the dense mass of people
looking on.
The prisoner arose to his feet, and, taking hold of the railing to
steady himself, said in a rolling, hollow voice, while Geoffrey was
swearing that the stolen bills were of a light-brown color:
"Geoffrey, old man, don't tell any lies on my account. The bills were
all dark-green." Then he sat down again wearily.
If there was a man in the room who until now had still hoped that Jack
was innocent, his last clinging hope was dissipated by this speech.
A deep silence prevailed for an instant, as the conviction of his guilt
sank into every heart.
Some said it was just like Geoffrey to go up and try to swear his friend
off. They thought it was like him, inasmuch as it was a daring stroke
which was aimed at the root of the whole prosecution. Probably he lost
few friends among those who thought he had perjured himself for this
object. Those who did not think this, supposed he was mistaken in his
recollection as to the color of the bills. A small special edition of a
vulgar newspaper, issued an hour afterward, said:
"In this case of Regina _vs._ Cresswell, if Hampstead had been able to
shake the identification of these bills no doubt Regina would have 'got
left.'"
When Jack had returned to consciousness, at Port Dalhousie, it was only
partially. He looked at the detective dreamily when informed that he had
to go to Toronto. He felt desperately ill and weak, and thought of one
thing only--Nina's death. Even that he only realized faintly. Mentally
and bodily he was like a water-logged wreck that could be towed about
from place to place but was capable in itself of doing little more than
barely floating. When Rankin had spoken to him, before the trial, about
getting a lawyer, he was merely conscious of a slight annoyance that
disturbed the one weak current of his thought. When the magistrate had
addressed him in the court-room, the change from the dark cell to the
light room and the crowd of faces had nearly banished again the few rays
of intelligence which he possessed. He did not know what the magistrate
was saying. Vaguely conscious that there was some charge against him, he
was paralyzed by a death-like weakness which prevented his caring in the
slightest degree what happened. When Rankin spoke incisively to him, the
voice was familiar, and he was able to make an answer, and in the course
of the trial gleams of intelligence came to him. The vibrations of
Geoffrey's well-known voice aroused him with a half-thrill of pleasure,
and during the re-examination he had partly comprehended that there was
some charge against him about these bills, and he came to the conclusion
that as Geoffrey must have known the true color of the bills, he was
only telling an untruth for the purpose of getting him off. This was as
far as his intelligence climbed, and when he sat down again the exertion
proved too much for him, and his mind wandered.
Of course, after this terribly damaging remark, there was nothing left
for Rankin to cling to. Clearly, Jack knew all about the bills, and had
given up all hope of acquittal. The two other clerks were called to
contradict Geoffrey as to the color of the bills, and with that the case
for the prosecution closed.
Rankin said he was as yet unprepared with any evidence for the defense.
Evidence of previous good character could certainly be obtained in any
quantity from any person who had ever known the prisoner, and, in any
case, he should be allowed time to produce this evidence. He easily
showed a number of reasons why a postponement for a week should be
granted.
The magistrate shook his head, and then told John Cresswell to stand up.
Jack was partly hoisted up by a policeman. He stood holding on to the
bar in front of him with his head down, perhaps the most guilty looking
individual that had been in that dock for a month.
"John Cresswell, the evidence against you in this case leaves no shadow
of doubt in my mind that you are guilty of the offense charged. Your
counsel has requested a delay in order that your defense may be more
thoroughly gone into. I have watched your demeanor throughout the trial,
and, although a little doubtful at first, I have come to the conclusion
that you are shamming insanity. I saw you on several occasions look
perfectly intelligent, and your remarks show that you fully understand
the bearing of the case. I will therefore refuse to postpone the trial
further than three o'clock this afternoon. This will give your counsel
an opportunity to produce evidence of previous good character or any
other evidence that he may wish to bring forward. Forty-eight thousand
dollars of the stolen money are still missing, and, so far, I certainly
presume that you know where that large sum of money is secreted. Unless
the aspect of the case be changed by further evidence sentence will be
passed on you this afternoon, and I wish to tell you now that if, in the
mean time, you make restitution of the money, such action on your part
may materially affect the sentence I shall pass upon you."
The magistrate was going on to say: "I will adjourn the court now until
three o'clock," when he perceived that Jack, who was still standing, was
speaking to him and looking at him vacantly. What Jack said while his
head swayed about drunkenly was this:
"If you'll let me off this watch now I'll do double time to-morrow,
governor. I never was sea-sick before, but I must turn in for a while,
for I can't stand without holding on to something."
Nobody knew what to make of this except Detective Dearborn, who had
possessed all along the clew to his distressing condition. But what did
the detective care for his condition? John Cresswell was black with
guilt. The fact of his being "cut up" because, a woman got drowned did
not change his guilt. He and that deuced fine woman were partners in
this business, and forty-eight thousand had gone to the bottom of the
lake in her pocket The detective could not forgive himself for not
allowing Jack to try and save the girl. The girl herself was no object,
but it would have fetched things out beautifully as a culmination of
detective work to bring her back also--along with the money. Forty-eight
and two would make fifty, and if the bank could not afford to give away
one in consideration of getting back the forty-nine--Bah! he knew his
mad thirst to hold his prey had made him a fool.
Was it the formation of his jaw? They say a bull-dog is not the best
fighter, because he will not let go his first grip in order to take a
better one.
The court-room was empty in five minutes after the adjournment, and a
couple of the "Vics" followed Jack down-stairs. Rankin went down also
and was going to get Jack some stimulant, but he found the bank fellows
ahead of him. One of them had got a pint of "fizz," another had procured
from the neighboring restaurant some oysters and a small flask of
brandy.
These young men were beautiful in the matter of stand-up collars, their
linen was chaste, and extensive, and-their clothes ornamental, but they
could stick to a friend. The language of these young men, who showed
such a laxity in moral tone as to attempt to refresh an undoubted
criminal, was ordinarily almost too correct, but now they were profane.
Every one of them had been fond of Jack, and their sympathy was greater
than their self-control. For once they forgot to be respectable, and
were cursing to keep themselves from showing too much feeling--a phase
not uncommon.
Rankin saw Jack take some brandy and that afterward he was able to peck
at the oysters. Then he walked off to No. 173 Tremaine Buildings to
think out what had best be done and to have a solitary piece of bread
and butter, and perhaps a cup of tea, if Mrs. Priest's stove happened to
have a fire in it.