The action did not pass unnoticed by Sheppard.

“Restore it,” he cried, in an authoritative voice.

“O’ons!  Captain,” cried Blueskin, as he grumblingly obeyed the command; “if you’ve left off business yourself, you needn’t interfere with other people.”

“I should like a little of that plum-tart,” said Mrs. Maggot; “but I don’t see a spoon.”

“I’ll ring for one,” replied Kneebone, rising accordingly; “but I fear my servants are gone to bed.”

Blueskin, meanwhile, having drained and replenished his glass, commenced chaunting a snatch of a ballad:—­

    Once on a time, as I’ve heard tell. 
    In Wych Street Owen Wood did dwell;
    A carpenter he was by trade,
    And money, I believe, he made.
        With his foodle doo!

    This carpenter he had a wife,
    The plague and torment of his life,
    Who, though she did her husband scold,
    Loved well a woollen-draper bold.
        With her foodle doo!

“I’ve a toast to propose,” cried Sheppard, filling a bumper.  “You won’t refuse it, Mr. Kneebone?”

“He’d better not,” muttered Blueskin.

“What is it?” demanded the woollen-draper, as he returned to the table, and took up a glass.

“The speedy union of Thames Darrell with Winifred Wood,” replied Jack.

Kneebone’s cheeks glowed with rage, and he set down the wine untasted, while Blueskin resumed his song.

    Now Owen Wood had one fair child,
    Unlike her mother, meek and mild;
    Her love the draper strove to gain,
    But she repaid him with disdain.
        With his foodle doo!

“Peace!” cried Jack.

But Blueskin was not to be silenced.  He continued his ditty, in spite of the angry glances of his leader.

    In vain he fondly urged his suit,
    And, all in vain, the question put;
    She answered,—­“Mr. William Kneebone,
    Of me, Sir, you shall never be bone.”
        With your foodle doo!

    “Thames Darrell has my heart alone,
    A noble youth, e’en you must own;
    And, if from him my love could stir,
    Jack Sheppard I should much prefer!”
        With his foodle doo!

“Do you refuse my toast?” cried Jack, impatiently.

“I do,” replied Kneebone.

“Drink this, then,” roared Blueskin.  And pouring the contents of a small powder-flask into a bumper of brandy, he tendered him the mixture.

At this juncture, the door was opened by Rachel.

“What did you ring for, Sir?” she asked, eyeing the group with astonishment.

“Your master wants a few table-spoons, child,” said Mrs. Maggot.

“Leave the room,” interposed Kneebone, angrily.

“No, I shan’t,” replied Rachel, saucily.  “I came to see Jack Sheppard, and I won’t go till you point him out to me.  You told me he was going back to Newgate after supper, so I mayn’t have another opportunity.”