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Updated: September 6, 2025
"It is terrible," answered Rudolph, honestly. "Terrible racket, yes. Fireworks, to frighten us. Wait till their ammunition comes; then you'll see fun. Fireworks, all this." Heywood turned to his other companion. "I say, Kneebone, what's your idea? Sniping all night, will it be? or shall we get a fair chance at 'em?"
Here he halted; and, looking upwards, read, at the foot of an immense sign-board, displaying a gaudily-painted angel with expanded pinions and an olive-branch, not the name he expected to find, but that of WILLIAM KNEEBONE, WOOLLEN-DRAPER.
She was a lovely girl, attired in deep mourning, and having an expression of profound sorrow on her charming features. Her companion was a portly handsome man, also dressed in a full suit of the deepest mourning, with the finest of lace at his bosom and wrists, and a sword in a black sheath by his side. These persons were Mr. Kneebone and Winifred.
When the woollen-draper was nearly worn out, the Amazon watched her opportunity, and hitting him on the arm, disabled it. "That's for Mrs. Wood," she cried, as the staff fell from his grasp. "I'm at your mercy, Poll," rejoined Kneebone, abjectly. "That's for Winifred," vociferated the Amazon, bringing the cudgel heavily upon his shoulder. "Damnation!" cried Kneebone.
"Where am I to take it to?" asked Sheppard. "I told you that before," rejoined Wood, testily. "You must take it to Sir Rowland Trenchard's in Southampton Fields. And, mind, it's for his sister, Lady Trafford." "Very well, Sir," replied Sheppard. "Wet your whistle before you start, Jack," said Kneebone, pouring out a glass of ale. "What's that you're taking to Sir Rowland Trenchard's?"
Without stopping to inquire into the cause of their mirth, or even to ask the names of his guests, the worthy carpenter shook hands with the one-eyed chapmen, slapped Mr. Kneebone cordially on the shoulder, and began to laugh as heartily as any of them. Mrs. Wood could stand it no longer. "I think you're all bewitched," she cried. "So we are, Ma'am, by your charms," returned Mr.
"Here are some letters, which will let you see what a snake you've cherished in your bosom, you uxorious old dotard," said Blueskin, tossing a packet of papers to Wood, as he followed his leader. "'Odd's-my-life! what's this?" exclaimed the carpenter, looking at the superscription of one of them. "Why, this is your writing Dolly, and addressed to Mr. Kneebone."
Kneebone, I came hither as your guest. You have betrayed me." "What faith is to be kept with a felon?" replied the woollen-draper, disdainfully. "He who breaks faith with his benefactor may well justify himself thus," answered Jack. "I have not trusted you. Others who have done, have found you false." "I don't understand you," replied Kneebone, in some confusion.
Still, in spite of her glances and gestures, Mr. Kneebone made no effort to check the unreasonable merriment of his companions, but rather seemed to encourage it. So Mrs. Wood went on fuming, and the trio went on laughing for some minutes, nobody knew why or wherefore, until the party was increased by Mr. Wood, in his Sunday habiliments and Sunday buckle.
Kneebone," observed Shotbolt, as he emptied his tenth tumbler; "I'm sure he's meditating an escape, and hopes to accomplish it to-night." "Poh! poh!" rejoined Ireton; "it was mere idle boasting. I examined the Condemned Hold myself carefully this morning, and didn't find a nail out of its place.
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