"Alsace Lorraine—one bottle gone! Damn that captain's soul!"
Yes, there was passion there—not love. "We know how to use the mist—they don't."
"It's safe enough. Lots of it to-night"
No, there was no vestige of love in that. And presently the conversation was terminated with the most uncomplimentary remark from the sexton.
"You can lay your old topknot, and throw in your face, that there'll be a good haul out to-night, and a good haul in here," saying which, with a knowing slap at his pocket, Mipps came hurriedly out of the bar door and fell all a-sprawl over the crouching body of young Jerk.
"Why, in the name of all wot rots, can't you tell me where you was?" cursed the sexton.
"'Cos I prefers to tell you what I wants," replied young Jerk.
"A thrashin'?"
"A gallows!"
"Aye, that you do, if any one did."
"Will you make it for me, then?" said the boy.
"What do you mean?"
"What I says—will you make me one?"
"At a price."
"And that is?"
"Depends on the size. Wot do you want a gallows for now?"
