And one must—some of it must slip through one’s fingers. "He was hanged that left his drink behind, you know, master," rejoined Sheppard. "At least I'll try," replied Jonathan, sarcastically. "At length I am my own master," murmured the knight, as his foot touched the strand. I—well, I lost my temper. From this sorrowful state he was aroused by a loud derisive whistle, followed by a still louder laugh; and, looking up, he beheld the impudent countenance of Jack Sheppard immediately before him. And sometimes he overflowed with a peculiarly malignant wit that played, with devastating effect, upon any topics that had the courage to face it.
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