Galloping Dick
Tree to that mealy-mouthed scoundrel, with his pink eyes and his greasy grin. If ever the Devil came to London Town, it was with Timothy’s hide he covered himself. For it was his aim to stand in security somewhere half-way ’twixt us fellows and the Law, and squeeze the both; and but that he had the lives of scores upon his tongue, and was very useful withal at a pinch, both to us on the lay and to the traps, he would have been hanged or pistolled for his pains long since. But, Devil or none, Timothy Grubbe was not a name to frighten me, nor was I to be lectured by a sot like Old Irons. And so I told him roundly; and then while we were drinking at the “Bull’s Head,” who should come up but the man himself.
He stepped forward to us smartly, as though we were the particular game he was after, and, “Ho! Ho! Dick Ryder,” says he, with that intolerable grin of his, “and there’s sport ahead, is there, Dick? Pretty goldfinches to nest in your pockets, eh? So, so, Dick; and you look full-mettled for business. What?”
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