. I needed a man the worst kind of way—a man I could keep for at least six months. "Bring him along, Joe!" said Jackson, in a whisper to his comrade. It wasn’t clear to me that I had to explain. Then there was Tom Jarrot, the hackney-coachman, who was pitched off the box against yonder curbstone, and broke his leg. Lucy cringed, her eyes widening. He then descended; and having induced Bess to take off some part of her clothing, he tore the gown and petticoat into shreds and twisted them into a sort of rope which he fastened to the lower bars of the window. I wonder why on earth the curtains are drawn. Gentlemen, I am proud to say that I originated—that I directed those measures.
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