” He leaned back in his chair as though wearied. There was a new softness in her eyes, a hesitation, a timidity about her manner which was almost pathetic. "Somebody ought to get hold of that young man," said Prudence, grimly, as she nodded in Spurlock's direction. 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.
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