Just beyond there would be her heart's desire. He reached out a hand gropingly, sagged, and toppled out of the chair to the floor, where he lay very still. "But to the point," continued Wild, unconscious of the peril in which the remark had placed him,—"to the point. 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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