"What sort of fellow was he?
A harum-scarum young dog, with impudent eyes, and a toss of his head that would have defied the bench of bishops ?" "That is he," said Roger excitedly.
"Sit down!" continued Fastnet--"curly hair, arms like a young Hercules, as obstinate as a bulldog, with a temper like a tiger ?" "Yes, yes! that must be the same." "Left his mother and father in a furious tantrum, with a vow to cut off his head before he showed face at home again?
A regular young demon, as honest as the Bank of England--no taste for vice in any shape or form, but plunged into it just to spite his friends, civil enough when you got him on the weather side, and no fool?
Was that the fellow ?" "I'm sure you describe the very man," said Roger.
"Man?
He was a boy; a raw-boned green boy, smarting under a sense of injustice, a regular, thorough-paced young Ishmaelite as you ever saw.
I should fancy I did know him.

But his name was not Ingleton." "What was it ?" "Jack Rogers." "No doubt he adopted his own Christian name as a disguise." "Very likely.

I could never get him to talk about his people.

His one object was to lose himself--body and soul--it seemed to me.

Bless you, I had little enough voice in his proceedings.