"Many thanks, Sir," replied Thornhill, with freezing politeness; "but Id not require assistance. We've got to make him take up the harp of life and go twanging it again. One was in the Indian Civil Service and one in the rapidly developing motor business. Besides, didn't I tell you that I giv' him as good as he brought—and better! I jist touched him with my 'Evenin' Star,' as I call this shillelah," said the watchman, flourishing an immense bludgeon, the knob of which appeared to be loaded with lead, "and, by Saint Patrick! down he cum'd like a bullock. Are you now satisfied?" "No," interposed Wood, furiously, "I shall never be satisfied till I see you hanged on the highest gibbet at Tyburn. ‘Now then, girl. ” “Annabel, are you mad? To England! You are joking, of course.
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