F. . Kneebone, a woollen-draper in Wych Street, with whose pockets, it appears, Jack, when a lad, made a little too free. Usually his charges bored him with their interrogative chatter, for he knew that his information more often than not went into one ear and out of the other. " "Come, Sir!" thundered the latter, "no trifling! Perhaps," he added, opening a warrant, "you'll obey this mandate?" "A warrant!" ejaculated Kneebone, starting to his feet. ” “And I,” Courtlaw said, “although I have asked before in vain, have come to ask you once more the same thing.
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