Not like my father. In vain Wood protested his innocence. Opposite, his pupil stood with bowed head and clasped hands. Prom a knot of idlers at a public-house, he learnt that Jonathan Wild had just ridden past, and that his setters were scouring the country in every direction. I only arrived when everybody was coming away. “You were born for great things,” he said huskily. This year—I’ve got it badly. “You are persuaded to come and take part in these outrageous proceedings— many of you, I am convinced, have no idea whatever of their nature.
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