‘I assure you it was mutual. Humph. The poet's appearance altogether was highly prepossessing. "Quilt!—Mendez!—Where are you?" vociferated Wild, sounding his whistle for the third time. CHAPTER XXVI Spurlock went out on his toes, careful lest the bamboo curtain rattle behind him. “So far you’ve got me and I you. 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. But I do not need that Gérard attend.
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