Spring-Heel'd Jack, The Terror of London — page 283: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

SPRING-HEEL’D JACK when he started, from a small deg sniffing round his legs, and, giving the animal a gentle cut with the whip, turned and walked on. | On passing a large tree, which stood upon the bank, he paused, and nearly laughed outright ; for right before him, on the edge of the stream, ‘stood the tall, attenuated figure of an aged gentle- man engaged in fishing. So deeply was he absorbed in his occupation that he observed not the presence of our hero; and Jack drew still nearer, and, pausing close by his side, took an inventory of this disciple of Walton. He was a man between fifty and sixty years of age, and thin almost to attenuation, his long, slender arms supported a long, slender rod ; and, as if unable to bear the weight of his long body, his long, thin-legs were bent at the knee, giving the old gentleman a half sitting attitude. He was habited in a surtout coat, plaid trou- sers, low, broad-brimmed hat, and gaiter boots, an enormous frill stuck out from his bosom, and a terribly stiff stock encircled his thin neck. He wore an eye-glass in his eye, and a look of such comical anxiety sat enthroned on his features as he gazed at the float bobbing up and down on the surface of the stream, that Jack thought he had never before seen such a strange looking personage. At his feet was a green painted tin can, the lid of which was perforated with holes, and which was intended to receive the fish when caught, but which apparently contained nothing at present. _ Jack edged up close to the old man’s side. “A fine morning, sir ?” he said. But the angler took no notice of him. The words were repeated. still the same result. The old man either did not, or would not, hear ; neither did he turn his gaze from off the float, bobbing about by the action of the wind or water. On that his very thought and sense appeared to be centred. Jack stood silent for some moments, and then, in a louder tone, remarked— _ “ Have you had good sport, sir ?”’ But Jack might as well have spoken to the tree by his side, for he received no answer. “The old gentleman is deaf, I suppose,” thought Jack, “ but surely he can’t be blind as well ? How intent he gazes upon that float— how motionless he stands. He might almost be taken for a statue, only statues don’t wear frilled shirts, or carry eye glasses ; at least, I never re- collect seeing one that did. If he won’t look or speak, I wonder if he can feel? I'll first touch him to make him acquainted with my pre- -sence.’’ Jack stretched forth his hand to touch the old gentleman’s shoulders, but paused as the angler save vent to the half grunt, half laugh of satis- f ition. , “Got a bite ?” said Jack. No answer, but the old man commenced to talk to himself. Oh!” he exclaimed, in a half whisper, “I shall have him yet; he’s been hovering round the bait these three hours, getting a nibble ee — THE TERROR OF LONDON. ‘confess. 285 now and then ; but he’ll have a taste too much —he’ll bite too deep. There he goes—there he goes—now he comes back—he’s close to the bait. Eh! therascal !—he’sartful. No—yes— there—confound it! but I'll have him yet, the rascal—I’ll have him yet.” “Who will you have ?” old gentleman, asked Jack, feeling assured the angler must see him now. “The devil!—eh, the devil! he’s gone for another.swim,’’ cried the old man. “ TDoes'his satanic majesty indulge in aquatic sports ?’’ asked Jack, smiling. , ‘¢ There he is, flapping his tail,’ continued the old gentleman, never once moving a muscle of his face, or taking his eyes from the float. “Down he goes. No; up he comes. ' He can't resist another taste. Ay!—no—yes—no, he don’t. Confound him; he’s off again. Them jacks are perfect devils—so full of fun—so confounded artful. Now, only think one should be close to my rod all this while. But I'll have a hook in his gills before I go.” ‘Which Jack does he mean, I wonder?’’ smiled our hero. ‘‘ But there can be no doubt of that, for his attention is so wrapped in the jack down there, that he will not bestow a glance on the one up here. Well, if that is patience, it is a virtue I do not possess, I must Three hours’ standing in one position, and gazing upon one object, is something beyond me.” “There he goes!” muttered the old gentle- man, again bursting forth. ‘‘ Now, back again —closer—closer! Now he smells it—now—now ! No, damn it! it ain’t a bite after all. Never mind! never mind! If they bit at once, there’d be no sport; and this is capital! capital!” Jack shrugged his shoulders, and thought otherwise. “ Hallo! he’s back again! Steady !—oh, oh! Now—no—yes—yes! A bite! hurrah! a jack at last!” . Wonderful was the change, in an instant, 1n the old man’s face, as he gave the line a jerk, and hooked the fish he had so long watched and toiled for. “Right in his. gills he’s got 1. Hh? eh? Master Jack ; it’s right in your gills.” And the old man, leaping backwards, caught our hero a blow under the chin with his rod, screaming out at the same time, “ A jack at last —a jack at last!” but, turning at the obstruc- tion, the sudden joy vanished from his face—the rod fell from his grasp, and he tottered back- wards to the very edge of the stream. © “Do not be alarmed, old gentleman,’ cried Jack, taking a step forward, “ I am only”- “he devil!’ cried the old man, making an attempt to retreat still further back, and losing his balance, rolled over the edge of the bank into the stream, where he commenced to flounder about and make frantic efforts to grasp at his rod, which hung partially over the water. Jack laughed outright at the comical figure he cut, but instantly rushed to lis aid ; but the old ceentleman had floundered out of his reach. 0, taking the rod from the bank, he held it towards him, and the angler, nothing loth, grasped at the other end. Jack drew him in till he could | MiGIOO CO -