“You’re not come here to insult me, Mr. Figg?” said Jack, peevishly.

“Insult you! not I;” returned Figg.  “Heard of your escapes.  Everybody talking of you.  Wished to see you.  Old pupil.  Capital swordsman.  Shortly to be executed.  Come to take leave.  Trifle useful?” he added, slipping a few gold pieces into Jack’s hand.

“You are very kind,” said Jack, returning the money; “but I don’t require assistance.”

“Too proud, eh?” rejoined the prize-fighter.  “Won’t be under an obligation.”

“There you’re wrong, Mr. Figg,” replied Jack, smiling; “for, before I’m taken to Tyburn, I mean to borrow a shirt for the occasion from you.”

“Have it, and welcome,” rejoined Figg.  “Always plenty to spare.  Never bought a shirt in my life, Mr. Gay,” he added, turning to the poet.  “Sold a good many, though.”

“How do you manage that, Mr. Figg?” asked Gay.

“Thus,” replied the prize-fighter.  “Proclaim a public fight.  Challenge accepted.  Fifty pupils.  Day before, send round to each to borrow a shirt.  Fifty sent home.  All superfine holland.  Wear one on the stage on the following day.  Cut to pieces—­slashed—­bloodied.  Each of my scholars thinks it his own shirt.  Offer to return it to each in private.  All make the same answer—­’d—­n you, keep it.’”

“An ingenious device,” laughed Gay.

Sir James Thornhill’s preparations being completed, Mr. Pitt desired to know if he wanted anything further, and being answered in the negative, he excused himself on the plea that his attendance was required in the court at the Old Bailey, which was then sitting, and withdrew.

“Do me the favour to seat yourself, Jack,” said Sir James.  “Gentlemen, a little further off, if you please.”

Sheppard immediately complied with the painter’s request; while Gay and Figg drew back on one side, and Hogarth on the other.  The latter took from his pocket a small note-book and pencil.

“I’ll make a sketch, too,” he said.  “Jack Sheppard’s face is well worth preserving.”

After narrowly examining the countenance of the sitter, and motioning him with his pencil into a particular attitude, Sir James Thornhill commenced operations; and, while he rapidly transferred his lineaments to the canvass, engaged him in conversation, in the course of which he artfully contrived to draw him into a recital of his adventures.  The ruse succeeded almost beyond his expectation.  During the narration Jack’s features lighted up, and an expression, which would have been in vain looked for in repose, was instantly caught and depicted by the skilful artist.  All the party were greatly interested by Sheppard’s history—­especially Figg, who laughed loud and long at the escape from the Condemned Hold.  When Jack came to speak of Jonathan Wild, his countenance fell.

“We must change the subject,” remarked Thornhill, pausing in his task; “this will never do.”