I did not perceive how the time flew. I could not
bear to separate, but continued walking on, arm in arm with him past my
lodgings, through Camden town, and across Crackscull Common, talking
the whole way about my poem.
When we were half-way across the common he interrupted me in the midst
of a quotation by telling me that this had been a famous place for
footpads, and was still occasionally infested by them; and that a man
had recently been shot there in attempting to defend himself.
"The more fool he!" cried I. "A man is an idiot to risk life, or even
limb, to save a paltry purse of money. It's quite a different case from
that of a duel, where one's honor is concerned. For my part," added I,
"I should never think of making resistance against one of those
desperadoes."
"Say you so?" cried my friend in green, turning suddenly upon me, and
putting a pistol to my breast, "Why, then have at you, my lad!--come,
disburse! empty! unsack!"
In a word, I found that the muse had played me another of her tricks,
and had betrayed me into the hands of a footpad. There was no time to
parley; he made me turn my pockets inside out; and hearing the sound of
distant footsteps, he made one fell swoop upon purse, watch, and all,
gave me a thwack over my unlucky pate that laid me sprawling on the
ground; and scampered away with his booty.
I saw no more of my friend in green until a year or two afterwards;
when I caught a sight of his poetical countenance among a crew of
scapegraces, heavily ironed, who were on the way for transportation.
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