The young man, whom my father had paid for the
horses with his smashing notes, was soon in trouble about them, and
ran some risk, as I heard, of being executed; but he bore a good
character, told a plain story, and, above all, had friends, and was
admitted to bail; to one of his friends he described my father and
myself. This person happened to be at an inn in Yorkshire, where
my father, disguised as a Quaker, attempted to pass a forged note.
The note was shown to this individual, who pronounced it a forgery,
it being exactly similar to those for which the young man had been
in trouble, and which he had seen. My father, however, being
supposed a respectable man, because he was dressed as a Quaker--the
very reason, by the bye, why anybody who knew aught of the Quakers
would have suspected him to be a rogue--would have been let go, had
I not made my appearance, dressed as his footboy. The friend of
the young man looked at my eye, and seized hold of my father, who
made a desperate resistance, I assisting him, as in duty bound.
Being, however, overpowered by numbers, he bade me by a look, and a
word or two in Latin, to make myself scarce. Though my heart was
fit to break, I obeyed my father, who was speedily committed. I
followed him to the county town in which he was lodged, where
shortly after I saw him tried, convicted, and condemned.
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