” “Bit starchy,” said Ann Veronica, and altered the key abruptly. The wounded man had descended the bridge, and dashed himself against the door beyond it; but, finding it impossible to force his way further, he turned to confront his assailants. Her eyes were lit with mirth, the corners of her mouth quivered. "At all hazards then then you shall know the truth," replied the woollen-draper, in a tone of affected solicitude,—"but are you really prepared?" "Quite—quite!" replied Winifred. There MULSACK and SWIFTNECK, both prigs from their birth, OLD MOB and TOM COX took their last draught on earth: There RANDAL, and SHORTER, and WHITNEY pulled up, And jolly JACK JOYCE drank his finishing cup! For a can of ale calms, A highwayman's qualms, And makes him sing blithely his dolorous psalms And nothing the transit to Tyburn beguiles So well as a draught from the Bowl of Saint Giles! "Singing's dry work," observed the stranger, pausing to take a pull at the bottle. CHAPTER XII.
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