"Defend yourself!" cried Jack, drawing his sword. I saw it this morning in the Daily Journal—an advertisement, offering a reward—" "A reward!" echoed Jack. " "I don't require it," returned Sheppard. A full-curled wig descended half-way down his back and shoulders; a neckcloth of "right Mechlin" was twisted round his throat so tightly as almost to deprive him of breath, and threaten him with apoplexy; he had lace, also, at his wrists and bosom; gold clocks to his hose, and red heels to his shoes.
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