So, bloody but unbeaten, weak and spent but undaunted, he waited for the Wastrel to spring up. ’ I received strange looks from them. ’ At last. “I’ll be hanged if I do. Should it e'er be my lot to ride backwards that way, At the door of the Crown I will certainly stay; I'll summon the landlord—I'll call for the Bowl, And drink a deep draught to the health of my soul! Whatever may hap, I'll taste of the tap, To keep up my spirits when brought to the crap! For nothing the transit to Tyburn beguiles So well as a draught from the Bowl of St. A little exclamation of surprise escaped Ennison. Quite trying of him not to be there when he is wanted. “I really owe him something of an apology.
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