” She drove off in a little fiacre, nodding and smiling at Sir John, who remained upon the Avenue. The silence of Canton at night was sinister, for none could prophesy what form of mob might suddenly boil out. Mama will be expecting me. His tongue was more ready, his wit more keen than usual. She's not for pleasure, but for work. At this moment, the landlord of the Crown, a jovial-looking stout personage, with a white apron round his waist, issued from the house, bearing a large wooden bowl filled with ale, which he offered to Jack, who instantly rose to receive it.
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